Painting Memories
by Ladey Jezzabella
Summary: John grimaced, as his niece and rather intimidating looking friend stared at each other, or more prudently, glowered at one another. Meredith had always been a firecracker... Sherlock/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Just a little something I was inspired to write, as inspiration is so hard to come by these days with me. I hope you enjoy! Xxx **

"Boys! _Boys!_ You have a visitor!"

There was something about how the woman said those words that made Meredith slightly suspicious. Of course, had she known what she was about to walk into, she probably would of turned the other way and gotten out of London as quickly as she'd came.

The small lady who waltzed up the stairs in front of her seemed flustered. This was just her, though, but Meredith, at that time, did not know it. She did not know who her Uncle was sharing a flat with, nor did she know what a complete sociopath he was. No, she had no idea why Mrs Hudson, who'd introduced herself so happily at the front door, was now in such a flap about her turning up so unexpectedly.

_Bang. _

With a little bit of hindsight, one would come to expect noises such as these coming from 221B Baker Street. As Meredith had never been there before, she jumped at the rather loud sound. "Was that a _gun_?" She said in shock to Mrs Hudson's back.

"I don't think so dear," The old lady said, her voice an octave higher than it should have been. "_Boys!"_

"I've told him to stop it, I really have,"

The next voice, however, was very familiar to Meredith. Very familiar indeed.

"Tell him to stop that now! There is a young lady here who claims she knows you!" Mrs Hudson made a clear way through the doorway so John Watson was in full view. Her uncle, who had been using a crutch the last time Meredith had spoken to him, fell short on his reply, looking startled, to say the least.

Meredith could have sworn he had been taller. But then again, she hadn't seen him since she was ten. Her appearance had probably changed a great deal in the nine years they hadn't seen each other. He might not even recognise her!

"Meredith?"

Ok. So he did recognise her. Well, that was something of start.

"Hi," said Meredith meekly, stepping into the flat, her eyes scanning the room. There was a skull on the mantelpiece. A violin. A happy face spray painted onto the wall and it was very...well dark. The walls were dark, lit up by the fireplace with brown patterned wall paper, and furniture stood besides it, basking in its warmth. She could figure out quite quickly that whoever lived there with John didn't exactly care for his tastes. Whoever lived there with John was quite the character.

"What...what are you doing here?" John asked, still quite baffled.

Meredith had sensed the other presence in the room far long before she'd looked at him. The man was perfectly still, draped across the grey coloured sofa with his eyes firmly shut. She noticed the gun propped in his hands, before looking back to her Uncle. "I'm going to college here. Didn't you get my messages?"

"I erm...well there were quite a lot of them, I was going to listen to them-"

"But you've been busy? Yeah. I figured." Meredith tucked a blond curl behind her ear.

"What a beautiful niece you have! I couldn't believe it when I opened the door. I used to dream about hair like that," Mrs Hudson chimed as she emerged from the kitchen with a tray. "Aren't you going to ask her to sit down? I'm not your housekeeper you know!"

"Yes I know Mrs Hudson," John deadpanned, leading Meredith to an armchair.

"Do sit up Sherlock! You have a guest!" Mrs Hudson scolded the silent and still man. With his eyes still closed, he pointed the gun at the wall and shot it. Meredith jumped. She stared at him with wide eyes, not quite sure how someone could be so stupid as to fire a gun in a domestic flat.

She stood up quickly, marched over and grabbed the gun from his hands. The man's eyes shot open quickly, looking at her as if she'd sprouted a few extra arms. Meredith glared at him, this man called Sherlock, who she'd never seen or met in her life, his eyes as blue as a sheet of ice.

"If you insist on letting us all know how loud a gun sounds inside a flat, how about I shoot you in the ear. It might save us all some time."

The silence was rather heavy. John, who had been in shock for the latter, put a hand over his mouth to hide the small smile forming. Meredith had always been a firecracker. Maybe this could work to his advantage.

Meredith and Sherlock were still glaring at each other. She watched him slowly rise up from the couch, trying not to be intimidated as he towered over her.

"Young. I'd say, probably nineteen. A little late to be starting college, most start earlier but you, you couldn't start college because of your mother-"

John groaned "_Sherlock..."_

"-she's a drastically terrible mother, but you still love her, you're wearing a necklace she bought you, probably for a birthday she actually bothered to remember, and you've clung onto it ever since. You have sister, those were her boots but she threw them out, there are scratch marks on the sides where they've been pulled out of a bin, which suggests you don't have a lot of money, so unless you received some money from benefits, you must of got inheritance from a dead relative, most likely a beloved grandparent, and you're using it to pay for college. You have a few spots of green nail polish on you index finger, right hand, so you must be studying beauty therapy, a woolly subject but looks like it suits you nonetheless, and you've come all the way to London because your boyfriend dumped you a few weeks ago, who you've been crying about just this morning as there are red rims beneath your eyes."

Sherlock had such pale skin, his eyes were even more vividly defined than ever. His hair was black, curled over his head thickly, and one curl clung to his forehead. He looked ageless, like time had stood still for him. Meredith searched him with her green eyes. She could usually figure people out pretty quickly. Not that she went to the extreme of analysing every detail, of course. But she usually got the measure of someone rather easily. Sherlock, however, had a wall built up in front of him. A very thick wall.

"This is Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. My flatmate," John introduced weakly, as his niece and rather intimidating looking friend stared at each other, or more prudently, _glowered _at one another.

"You have my gun." Sherlock said in a low voice, barely above a whisper. Meredith tilted her head.

"Do I? I'd forgotten with you blabbering on about my life,"

"So I was right then?"

Meredith smiled. "A little." She turned from him, placing the gun down on a small table. "You have an interesting friend," She said to John, sitting on one of the armchairs.

"What do you mean 'a little?'" Sherlock demanded.

"Tell me about it." John replied, looking a little unsure as Sherlock strode over to their side of the sitting room. "Sherlock-"

"Tell me what I got wrong," The tall brooding man demanded again, cutting off John completely and not taking his eyes away from Meredith. She looked slightly offended, not used to his rudeness.

John couldn't help but feel like he was being ignored, yet again. Sometimes with Sherlock around he seemed to fade into the background, especially if he was interested in something. And this something appeared to be Meredith. Meredith, who, when John had last seen her, had been ten years old and riding her bike down the council estate where she'd grown up. She'd always had mad, thick curly hair, but somehow it seemed to have multiplied, flowing down to the small of her back thickly. He couldn't understand how nine years had changed her so. Of course, he'd always recognise her; no one could have green eyes like that. They were the eyes of his sister, whom Meredith had directly inherited them from. Even now, when he looked at her, he could picture Harriet clearly in his mind. The Harriet who hadn't been consumed by alcohol, life...the lot.

"Well, first of all, this is paint, not nail polish." Meredith said as she held up her slender fingers to Sherlock, who narrowed his icy eyes threateningly. "I'm studying Art at college."

Sherlock still stared at her. "Is that all?"

"No. If you must know, I wasn't crying this morning because my boyfriend dumped me, I had an argument with my Mum on the phone."

"Same thing." He drawled. "Anything else?"

"Do you like being an arrogant know it all?" Meredith asked sharply.

Sherlock's lips twitched upwards. "Aha, so I got the rest right, didn't I?" he stretched his arms over his head, looking pleased with himself. Meredith had a burning urge to slap his sharp cheekbones. Who the hell was this man and why was he such a prick?

"Who exactly are you?"

John decided it was about time he chipped in. "If anyone has remembered I'm here, Sherlock is an erm, Consulting Detective, as it goes. And I'm his-"

"Assistant. He's my assistant." Sherlock finished.

"Oh..._oh._" Meredith suddenly realised something. She looked at the pair of them. "You two are...well...together?"

"No! No, no!" John exclaimed, his face turning an extreme shade of magenta. "No! I'm not his bloody assistant and we are definitely not gay!"

Meredith held her hands up. "Sorry, sorry. It's ok you know, Mum was-"

"I know she was," John ran a hand over his face. "How is your Mum?"

And there it was. The question Meredith knew had been stewing in John's mind the minute he had seen her walk through that doorway. One part of her brain told her to lie, but the other told her it wasn't her place to lie for her mother. Anyway, John knew what was going on; he knew she couldn't stop drinking. And Laura wouldn't lie either.

"She's been better,"

"Oh. Yeah...and erm, Laura?"

Meredith snorted into her tea. "The witch never speaks to me unless she wants something, I have no idea how she is,"

"Yeah she always was a bit...evil,"

"Oh my lord! BORING!" Sherlock, the strange tall man who lived in 221B Baker Street, exclaimed very loudly, glancing at the gun lying on the table. He must of thought better of it, because instead he flopped down on the sofa beneath the smiley face.

John shook his head. "Sorry about him. He likes to be the _centre of attention_," His words got louder as he shot the sulking Sherlock a dark look.

"Oh go on, continue talking about your boring, mundane lives!" He cried, throwing his hands over his face.

"It's a good job I'm used to weird." Meredith muttered to herself. "Anyway, I should go. I have to unpack and enrol, you know, it's what us boring and mundane people _do," _

Sherlock didn't respond. John grinned a little bit, standing up as Meredith drained the remains of her tea. "It was really good to see you Meredith,"

"Yeah you too Uncle John," She smiled, giving him a bone crushing hug. "And Sherlock. You were right about my necklace but...My Mum bought it me for Christmas, not my birthday. She never did remember that."

As Meredith left the apartment, Sherlock jumped from his position on the sofa and bounded to the window. He watched as her mass of blond curls disappeared down the street, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. John observed his friend for a moment, one eyebrow arched.

"Three."

"What?" Sherlock grumbled, grabbing his violin.

"Three things. You usually get one thing wrong. You got...three."

"Shut up."

The rest of John's sniggers were drowned out by his rather aggressive playing.

...

**A review is always welcome! **


	2. Chapter 2

**I may make this longer or change it, but it's just a little chapter for you all to chew on. I've been trying too hard to write this and it's getting frustrating! I need to just get it out there!**

**Thanks for the reviews, they really help. **

**Hope you like! Xxx **

_Keep going keep going keep going..._

_I'm doing this for a reason, healthy living, healthy mind, healthy body..._

_Ah sod that healthy crap, this is painful!_

Meredith stopped her jogging for a moment, leaning forwards with her hands resting above her knees as she panted like a dog for air. Two men in a dodgy looking pickup truck wolf whistled in her direction from the traffic lights. She sneered at them, taking a deep breath and dashing across the street to get away from their leering eyes.

Why in earth had she decided _jogging _was a good idea? She'd clearly been deranged. There was sweat building on her forehead, which she didn't like at all, and her feet where beginning to seriously hate her. The crisp autumn air was wonderfully soothing however, just not enough to make the jogging thing any easier.

Her thoughts trailed off to her Uncle, and his interesting friend. His apartment was fascinating. Meredith liked how it looked. She had reached her new apartment that evening, and spent the next day un-boxing _everything, _determined to put her on mark on it.

The place was very small, but also very neat. The building had been standing there for a hundred years according to the landlord, so it was very sturdy, with high ceilings and strong cream coloured bricks. Her living room was open plan, leading to the kitchen, with the basics; an oven, microwave, kettle, sink. She had a separate bedroom which had about five feet of space between the bed and the door. The bed itself was low, queen sized, and was now adorned with her floral patterned sheets.

She had to scrub the bathroom top to bottom; the tiled walls had mould in the crevices, which she scrubbed hard with bleach until it was sparkling clean. Then she moved onto the kitchen. Whoever had lived there before had left a huge stain on the oven, which she literally had to hack off with a flat silver tool she'd found in a drawer, with no inclination as to what the name of the tool was at all. Wiping sweat from her forehead, she proceeded to clean anything with a speck of dirt on it.

Meredith wasn't completely obsessed with cleanliness, but she was feeling extremely motivated. Something about that Sherlock Holmes had sparked her creative fuse, and she was just dying to get out her paintbrushes.

Of course she'd had this ludicrous idea to go jogging, so the painting had been held off for a while. And low and behold, she was getting a blister on the bottom of her foot.

She reached a street corner and a man shot past her like a whippet, so fast he was almost a blur. Meredith let out a little squeak and watched as he sprinted across the road, narrowly avoiding a car. The driver beeped angrily and yelled profanities as he hit the brakes with a lot of force. The running guy continued down the pavement, and as she watched, she heard more footsteps coming up behind her.

She turned as a huge blurred mass of black hurtled towards her, and then there were stars. Many, many stars.

She must've hit the pavement with some force, because it took her a moment to remember where she was. She could hear someone cursing loudly, and as the stars cleared from her eyes she caught sight of his face. Sherlock Holmes's face.

"Meredith!"

Her Uncle cried, somewhere to her left. Still on the ground and terribly dizzy, she couldn't believe Sherlock was on his feet already and staring down the street with narrowed eyes.

"Are you OK?" John asked as he fell beside her, looking her over for injury.

"Yeah..." Meredith mumbled as her Uncle helped her to her feet. "I'm fine,"

"Never mind about that! He got away!" Sherlock growled, switching his gaze to Meredith. "What on earth were you doing?"

She blinked up at him, and for a moment her brain convinced her that he had a twin, but he soon become one person. He looked...well, slightly appealing with his big black coat on and blue scarf wrapped around his neck. Not that he was her type, in any sense of the word! He was too broody and skinny, plus his high and mighty attitude radiated off him like a disease. No, Sherlock Holmes was nowhere near the sort of man Meredith wanted!

"I was just jogging!" Meredith exclaimed, expecting an apology which she knew she wouldn't receive. "What on earth were you doing?"

"Well, actually, I was after a potential murder suspect, who is now gallivanting freely around London, all thanks to you and your stupid _jogging."_ He said the last word as if it were poison on his tongue. Meredith wanted to snap right back at him but her uncle interrupted.

"If you two have quite finished! Meredith, your arm is bleeding," He gestured towards her, and she looked down, realising she had scraped all along her upper arm. There was one particular gash that sunk deep into her skin.

"I'll have to clean that up, come on. Sherlock are you..." He trailed off, as Sherlock had already hailed down a taxi and jumped inside, disappearing down the busy road until neither him nor Meredith could see him.

Meredith quirked an eyebrow. "Does he always-"

"Yes. _Always._"

...

**Reviews make me smile! **


	3. Chapter 3

**I realised that Memory Castle was COMPLETELY wrong, it's his Mind Palace! Lol! So I've changed that! **

**This story has been running through my mind for at least three days, it's like I have Sherlock sickness! I was bombarded with so many ideas the other day that I was writing them on post it notes in the living room as I was watching the Australian Tennis, and sticking them on the sofa around me, because otherwise I **_**will forget them. **_**My Mum's face was quite the picture, but she is pretty used to it by now anyway. **

**I ordered the first Series on DVD and it hasn't come yet. Grrr! I'm on pins now because I want the Third Series to come along, but I know it's gonna be a while. Why they do this to us is beyond me. **

**Anyway, sorry I'm rambling. As always, hope you enjoy this chapter and review review review! It doesn't take long and it makes us writers smile! Xx**

"Your friend is crazy." Meredith grumbled, sat in an armchair by the fire, which John had poked for several minutes to light. He raised his eyebrows, using a pair of tweezers to pull out tiny little stones that had decided to make a home in her wound.

"You don't have to tell me that,"

Meredith winced as a particularly sharp little bugger was pulled from her skin. "Who was he after? He said a _murder _suspect."

John sighed. "He's a little wound up at the moment. Been waiting for days to find something and when he finally did..."

"I became a human barrier." Meredith finished. She had given up trying to convince John she could clean her own wound in her own flat. Instead, he'd insisted that she go back to 221B Baker street and have it properly done, whilst Sherlock ran around London after whoever it was that he wanted. Her eyes fell on a jar, just above the fire place. It was full of eyes...human eyes. Whilst she felt slightly disgusted, there was a part of her that yearned to know _why _he had a jar of human eyes sitting on his fireplace. There were lots of books too; many of them so old the bindings were falling apart. They reminded her of her own books, many of them Jane Austen novels, which had been taped together as they'd been read so much she could pretty much recite the entire things word for word.

John started dabbing antiseptic on her arm, breaking her out of her daydream. He seemed extremely focused and upbeat, not like before, when she'd been a child. John had always been quite laid back, reserved, and after his service in the war, he had come back even worse. She'd tried to contact him, and at times she'd been successful, and other times she hadn't. The majority of the time, he'd seem so detached from reality talking just seemed quite pointless. But now...now he was much better. Meredith hadn't seen him so animated. Maybe this Sherlock Holmes had been good for him. Maybe.

"There, all done." Said John, looking quite pleased with himself. "I'll just put a bandage round it," He began rummaging through his bag.

"Thanks. I knew this jogging idea was a bad one..." She sighed.

"Yes. It was a bad idea."

Meredith jumped. She hadn't even heard anyone coming up the stairs. Sherlock strolled in with a superfluous look upon his features, pulling off his black leather gloves and chucking them somewhere behind him. His blue scarf followed, then his coat.

"Did you find him?" John asked as his eyes followed Sherlock for a minute.

"No." Sherlock replied, sitting at his desk and opening up his laptop.

"What happened then?"

"Nothing worth mentioning."

John tutted, rolling a white bandage carefully around Meredith's upper arm. Sherlock, after scanning his webpage for a total of three seconds, slammed the laptop shut. She watched as he stood once more, beginning to pace the room hastily, his shoulders stiff and hands clenching together tightly.

"Sherlock-"

"Don't! I'm trying to think!" Sherlock exclaimed. He was so strange. Meredith raised her eyebrows, not sure whether to laugh at him. He probably wouldn't take it very well, and she hadn't witnessed his sense of humour yet.

"What is he doing?" Meredith asked John as she continued to watch the man pace the room, his eyes now closed.

"Probably opening his mind palace," John replied, matter of factly.

"Mind _palace_?"

"Yes, and I can't open it with all of this noise- BULGARIA!" Sherlock practically screamed, grabbing his coat from his desk. "Her husband was in Bulgaria John!"

John stared at him blankly. "And?"

Sherlock sighed, running his hands through his hair in agitation. "How can you not see it!" He pulled on his scarf. "He was given that bottle of wine as a gift, not realising his wife had poisoned it! Instead of drinking it himself he gave it to his best friend for his birthday!"

"His wife poisoned it?"

"Of course his _wife _poisoned it, did you not see that way she looked at her husband?" Sherlock resembled a child who'd been given the key to Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. "It all fits!" He roared, rushing from the apartment.

"Sherlock!" John cried. He looked helplessly at the doorway for a minute and gave an angry growl, before grabbing his coat. "Are you coming Meredith?"

...


	4. Chapter 4

**I hope you all liked the previous chapter, and thanks for all the reviews! **

**Enjoy! Xx **

"Why is she here?" Sherlock asked with the same venomous tone he always had when talking about Meredith. She glared at him, not understanding why he'd taken such a disliking to her. He didn't even know her!

"Well I didn't want to leave her alone in the apartment Sherlock, it's called having manners," John replied as he sat between the sulking man and his glowering niece, the black cab hurtling through London at record speeds.

"Maybe you should look them up." She snapped.

"Manners? More like trivial folly. How extremely dull," Sherlock drawled. How did her Uncle put up with this man? He was the very essence of ignorant.

"So what you're saying is that we should all go around as you do, ignoring each other or just being downright rude?" said Meredith sharply.

"Manners are as stupid as being polite. Nobody actually wants to be polite, they just fool themselves."

"Says who? You? I don't see how being polite or having manners is stupid. Do you really think so little of other people?"

"I only observe and learn from what I see!"

"Well you must have observed very ignorant people then!"

"People are generally ignorant; they ignore everything and live unbearably miserable lives!"

"Then I guess you haven't met many decent people then!"

Meredith had no idea why she was getting so worked up over this man and his opinions. Maybe it was how he said them? Or the way he seemed to believe he was right about _everything _that wound her up so tightly? Whatever it was, she couldn't ignore the tingles fluttering uncomfortably in her stomach. They were uncontrollable. It was as if her body _liked _arguing with Sherlock, a man she'd met only a few times. His eyes were narrowed, locked with hers, and the tingling got worse. Why was she feeling so angry at him?

"Jesus, will you two both shut up for five minutes!" John exclaimed, massaging his temples with his fingers. Meredith clenched her teeth together and looked pointedly away from Sherlock.

"Thank you!" Her Uncle sighed in relief, giving Sherlock a very sharp look that read 'say one more thing and I will have to hurt you'. He seemed to get the hint, because the rest of the journey was very silent, and very awkward. Meredith had no idea where they were going or what they were generally doing, all she knew was she wanted to be as far away from Sherlock and his 'mind palace' she could get.

The taxi rolled to a stop. Sherlock flew out, coat tails flying behind him. They were in a small street, with tightly packed houses on either side, the air extremely dense and cold. The sun had disappeared behind the clouds, and all of a sudden Meredith felt uneasy.

A dog barked loudly as they passed by a few of the houses. Dust bins lay around, unused and battered from wind and rain. Both Meredith and John had to practically jog to keep up with Sherlock's large strides, his walk so determined she doubted anyone could stop him.

"John, where are we going?" She whispered.

"I dunno...I usually just follow and have to run a lot," He replied in the same hushed whisper, Sherlock's paces getting faster as he found the house he was looking for. Without a word to either of them, he marched up to the front door and kicked it right open, so it flung straight into the adjacent wall with a loud _crack!_

Meredith's jaw dropped.

"Did he just kick that door in?"

"Apparently." John called as he shuffled inside after the tall man. Meredith didn't have a clue what to do. Did she wait outside? Or go in? What was she suppose to do?

_Ah bugger it! I'm going in! _She thought, her curiosity getting the better of her. She stumbled over the welcome mat like an idiot, but got her feet right and paced through the narrow hall. Sherlock's low humming voice could be heard as she got further towards what appeared to be the kitchen. The house was bigger than it appeared to be outside. The people who lived there must have been travellers, because they had all sorts of collected pieces hanging on the walls, covering the front room fireplace, and even in the kitchen...

_Oh god. _

Meredith caught sight of blood. A _lot_ of blood. It pooled over the kitchen lino like deep red paint, and some had splattered up the perfectly white walls. The body just lay there, as still as could be, the dead man's eyes still open in shock.

A woman was in the kitchen too, with a gun in her hands. It was pointed at her head.

Meredith gasped.

"I did it! I killed him!" The woman screamed, her smile almost manic. "How did you know? How did you know I would do it?"

"It was very simple. After your husband George got home from his trip to Bulgaria you decided to poison the bottle of wine, as he got it from his lover who lives not too far away from here, but you didn't expect him to give it to his best friend, no, you didn't. George effectively poisoned his friend and his wife, and to cover your tracks you stole the bottle to get rid of the evidence, but I found it buried besides that tree, the one your husband planted in the nearby allotments. I knew it had to be there, it was sentimental in a sort of twisted way, and with some tests in the lab it wasn't hard to distinguish the poison. It was a good plan, if George's friends hadn't died instead of him." Sherlock looked down at her dead husband. "It appears I have arrived too late."

The woman looked hysterical at that point. "Ha! Very well done! I bet my husband told you about the tree, didn't he?" Fat tears rolled down her cheeks. "He always did know how to talk! Never listen!" She put her finger on the trigger.

"No!" Meredith yelled, stepping forwards.

"I have to! I need to be free! They'll put me away for this!"

Meredith took another step forwards. "What's your name?" She asked quietly, wondering what on earth she was actually doing. One part of her told her to get out of there now, before she saw the woman blow her own head off. But her instinct kept her routed to the spot. This woman obviously needed serious help, and Sherlock's big speech back then had probably made matters much worse.

"D...Donna," The woman stuttered, looking slightly surprised.

"Listen Donna, I promise everything is going to be OK," Meredith soothed. "Just please put that down,"

"But you heard him!" She gestured to Sherlock. "I'll go to prison!"

"You can worry about that afterwards, please...you don't have to do this," Meredith could see Donna's big blue eyes flashing from Sherlock and John, back to her again.

Meredith's heart was racing so fast and hard within her chest she felt it may burst at any second. How would she have known, just this morning, that she'd be trying to talk a woman out of killing herself? A woman who had failed at killing her husband once, and had now succeeded.

"I knew it was only a matter of time...before they worked it out..." said Donna, who, amazingly, was lowering the gun. Meredith was holding her breath. She was going to put it down. "Do you have any idea what he did to me?"

Meredith shook her head, watching as the gun fell to the ground with a clatter. Donna's knees gave away beneath her, and she let out a heart breaking sob that echoed throughout the house. Meredith fell down next to her, and wrapped her arms tightly around Donna's shaking form, murmuring as many comforting words as she could.

...

"Right. So...the wife killed that couple?"

"Yes."

"And now she's murdered her husband?"

"Yes."

"And she was just about to kill herself?"

"_Yes._" Sherlock answered through very tightly gritted teeth, standing just a little further away from Meredith, who was seated on the back of an ambulance with her feet planted firmly on the ground. The man glanced at Meredith, named Detective Lestrade, or who John named Greg. Why John was on first name basis with the detective and seemingly very friendly with, made Meredith wonder how many times they had done this before. She couldn't hear anything more they were saying because the current wife in question had begun yelling at the police again; only luckily this time she had no gun to play with.

Her vision was blocked by something, and when she looked up, she met the cool and calculating gaze of a woman, probably in her late twenties, who stood with her arms folded and hip sticking out slightly. Her hair was in very tight curls, almost frizzy, coming down to her shoulders. Her suit was beige, and she was slimly built, but it was the expression on her face that really got to Meredith. She had cynical written all over her features. Hell, she might as well of had the word scrolled onto her forehead.

"Haven't seen you before." She said at last, titled her head to the side. "Are you a new 'colleague' or something?"

Meredith raised her eyebrows. "Erm...no. I'm John's niece."

"Unlucky. It's a shame the freak has to drag other people into these things."

"Excuse me? Did you just say 'freak'?"

"Yeah. Weirdo over there," She gestured towards Sherlock, who was still in deep conversation with Lestrade. "He's not normal."

Meredith smiled slightly. "Yeah, I think anyone could tell you that,"

"No but seriously. He's not normal. I tried to tell your uncle but he didn't listen, and now, well let's just say he's got him wound around his strange little finger. You better be careful, or you'll be next."

"I don't think my Uncle is wound around anyone's little finger. And neither will I be," said Meredith with a slightly cold edge to her tone. She didn't like this woman's attitude, and hadn't Sherlock just solved a crime for them? "Who are you anyway?"

"Detective Sally Donovan. I actually work for the police, it my _job." _Sally cast another glance at Sherlock. "I think everyone forgets that when he's around."

Meredith stared at her. Oh, that was it! She was jealous! She was jealous of Sherlock, of all the times Lestrade had asked him for help instead of consulting his team. She was jealous he knew the answers she didn't. She was bitter, and wanted her boss to notice her more.

"You know, me and Sherlock haven't gotten on since I met him...but I know for a fact that no matter how clever he thinks he is, he really has no idea." Meredith said as she pushed a curl behind her ear. She could have sworn Sally's lips twitched upwards slightly, but before anything more could be said between them, John appeared.

"Leave my niece alone Donovan, she's been through enough today," He said in exasperation. Sally's expression returned to cynical like someone had pressed a switch.

"Just trying to warn her, let her know it doesn't stop. Ever." She looked back at Meredith. "If I were you, I'd get out now."

...

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	5. Chapter 5

**New Chapter for you guys! Enjoy! Xx **

"_If I were you, I'd get out now." _

Sally Donovan turned her heel and marched back towards Lestrade, leaving Meredith and John to ponder her grim words. The afternoon had soon turned to evening, and by now, it was already getting dark. Meredith felt her eyes starting to droop. She'd had a hell of a day.

"You were pretty impressive back there," John murmured, leaning next to her and folding his arms. "I thought for sure she was gonna do it,"

Meredith pulled one of her knees up to her chin and used it to rest her weary head. "Me too."

Lestrade had begun to stroll over. It appeared everyone wanted to talk to her today. He flashed her a very white smile, the complete opposite of Sherlock, who strode along beside him looking as broody and dark as ever.

"I just heard what you did. It's Meredith right? Guess we owe you a thanks," He grinned, holding out his hand. Meredith took it quickly, her stomach beginning to tingle uncomfortably again. She didn't know why, until she glanced up at Sherlock. His gaze remained stony, but he was looking straight at her.

"Hey we could do with a girl like you on the force, ever thought of joining the coppers?"

Meredith smiled, not sure if he was joking or not. "I don't think so. There are only so many suicidal women I can take in one day,"

"Still. You're better than this one. I'm sure she took one look at him and wanted to top herself. I know I do," Lestrade gestured to Sherlock, who rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"I think you've forgotten who actually solved this case," He grumbled looking rather disgruntled. _Oh yes, he does like to be the centre of attention. _Meredith thought as her grin widened.

"He's only teasing you Sherlock. You shouldn't let him get to you,"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed dangerously. "He doesn't _get _to me."

"Oh kids, please, Dad's very tired, can we argue tomorrow?" John groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Sherlock have you gone _red?_" Lestrade exclaimed in absolute shock, blinking a good few times to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

Meredith stood up abruptly, checking the time on her phone. "I have to get home now, busy day tomorrow. Hey Lestrade, since we're being all thankful and stuff, you can give me a lift in one of these right?" She pointed at the police cars parked up on the pavement haphazardly. Lestrade, still staring at Sherlock, suddenly turned his attention to her, who was waiting expectantly.

"Oh yeah sure,"

"Wicked! I've only been in one of these once. Hell of a night that was," Meredith mused, ignoring the strange looks she was getting from all three men and looking forward to falling face first into her bed.

...

Her first day of college and it rained so heavily that by the time she got to her first class, she was soaked through and shivering like a kitten that'd fallen into a puddle. Meredith literally had to ring her hair out in the toilets. Two hours later, she'd learnt her timetable, what she would need to buy and who her classmates were.

"Hey everyone. My name is Meredith Kenly...erm, I'm nineteen. Just moved here from Birmingham, and I'm really loving it...sort of. Er...oh yeah, I like painting. Probably figured that out anyway, but it's what I do best, and I love illustrating too...and well...that's pretty much it!"

She took a deep breath, sitting back down and hoping she hadn't made an idiot of herself. The girl next to her, who was really quite tiny, with spiky brown hair and square rimmed glasses, gave her a large smile.

The small girl stood up. "I'm Annie Beckingdale, eighteen years old, and to be honest I only choose this course to piss my parents off." She earned a few giggles for that. Their lecturer, however, didn't look too impressed, so Annie continued quickly. "Only kidding, obviously. I'm hoping to be a graphic artist, you know, all that computer stuff. Oh and I've lived in London my whole life, if we're doing that bit too."

Meredith found her quite hilarious. The guy to stand up next was an American. He had beautifully tanned LA skin, with white straight teeth and curly blond hair. He introduced himself as Tyler Clark, who wanted to go into fashion design, and judging by how expensive his clothes looked, he wasn't short of a few dollars.

"So, what do you think Meredith? That Jamie guy seemed hot."

Meredith jumped. She'd been so in her own world, she'd actually forgotten she was sitting opposite Annie in the College canteen, a steaming hot cup of coffee sitting in front of her. She was spacing out a lot, thinking about the day before, the man lying dead on his kitchen floor, Donna almost shooting herself ...and of course, Sherlock Holmes.

"Jamie?"

"Yeah, the one with the long hair," Annie prompted, munching on her veggie pasta.

"Erm, well, he's not really my type..."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. You look too...I dunno, posh for him?"

Meredith snorted into her coffee. "Posh?"

"Yeah...sorry that was dumb. I tend to speak before I think you know?"

"Same here."

Annie pulled out a flask from her heaving bag that was covered in yellow rubber ducks and flipped open the lid. "Well what is your type then eh?"

Meredith took a big gulp of her coffee, as Tyler, the American guy from class, came up to them. "Hey guys, can I sit here?"

"Sure, take a seat my man!" Annie cried, slapping the surface of the table hard. Meredith giggled at the look on Tyler's face.

"I'm learning a lot today," He mused, his eyes a light shade of blue, open and friendly looking.

"Well you're about to learn some more. Meredith was about to tell me her type," Annie announced.

Tyler cocked is eyebrow. "Really?"

"I really wasn't. And it's an unfair question!" Meredith protested. "I don't have a type. I just look and like,"

"So you're easy then?" Tyler grinned.

"Hey, I might have only just met you, but I will still kick your ass," Meredith warned.

"I thought it was _arse _here?"

"It doesn't matter. I'll tell you your type then," Annie pointed at Meredith, seemingly determined to find out her 'type'. "I don't see short, no, definitely not short. Hmm...maybe dark hair? I'm not sure, dark or brown. Not blond. Sorry Tyler."

Meredith rolled her eyes. What was it with people and trying to figure her out? She'd had enough of that when she met bloody Sherlock. "Are you trying to be a psychic or something?"

"Yes. Oh! I can do card readings as well!" Annie beamed excitedly.

"Okay then, do me," Tyler said to her when she'd calmed down, winking at Meredith.

"Your type?"

"Yes, my type."

"Oh, hmm...hmmm..." She moved her hands comically around his head. Meredith had to hide her giggles behind her hand, as Annie continued to think. "I see someone with light hair. You don't like girls too skinny, I'm seeing brown hair. With brown eyes, definitely brown eyes."

"Really? So the fact that I'm gay didn't register in your psychic brain?" Tyler said, barely containing the large grin spreading on his mouth.

Annie sighed and looked at her pasta, as if somehow it was the pastas fault. "Shut up."

"Well I guess you might find a guy with brown hair and brown eyes?" Meredith chuckled. Tyler joined in, and they both protested loudly when Annie began throwing pasta at them.

...

**Review xxx **


	6. Chapter 6

**Hope y'all are enjoying the story so far. Enjoy, review, and...all that jazz! xxx **

"_Speculation today as thirty three year old Donna Fording goes on trial for the murder of Susan and Donald Smith, and her husband, George Fording, who was later shot in their home. Described to be mentally unstable, Mrs Fording allegedly tried to kill herself soon after the murder of her husband..."_

"_Apparently a young woman convinced Mrs Fording to rethink her suicide. No one knows who she is, nor how the case had been resolved..."_

Meredith sighed and flicked to the music channel. Donna's murder trial had been all over the news for days, and it was starting to bug her. As much as she wanted to know what was going to happen to Donna, another part of her just wanted to block out the whole experience. There was no way she was going to be all over the news like that. No way in hell.

It hadn't stopped her from sketching, however. Oh no. The whole ordeal had been drawn in her sketch pad; Donna holding a gun to her head, George dead on the floor...She'd even drawn Sherlock, but it wasn't quite right. His eyes...she just couldn't get his eyes right.

She'd sketched 221B Baker Street too, because it fascinated her so. Her new found friends at college had no idea what she was drawing but the perplexed look on their faces was worth it, after all, she didn't think any of them would understand Sherlock. Heck, she didn't think _John _understood Sherlock. Meredith had started reading John's blogs, because they were really very interesting. Her Uncle's tales of murders and Sherlock made her realise how different John really was here. And of course, their recent endeavour had been titled 'The Poisoned Bottle from Bulgaria', which Meredith thought had a nifty ring to it.

There was a knock at the door.

John stood outside of his niece's apartment, laden with a few house warming and 'I'm sorry about dragging you into a case' gifts. He could hear music blasting inside and took that as a good sign. The volume was turned down dramatically, and he wondered how on earth she'd heard him knock in the first place.

"Coming!" Meredith chimed happily. He heard more shuffling, a couple of bangs, before the door started to rattle open.

"By all the...!" Meredith cursed from behind the door. "This stupid-"_bang! _"-door is so-" _crash! "-_BLOODY ANOYING!" She finally managed to throw it open. "Hey John,"

"Want me to try and fix the door?"

"You're my hero!" Meredith cried, beckoning for him to enter. "Welcome to my humble abode. It's not exactly finished yet but hey, it's getting there. _Did you bring me gifts?_" She squealed her last words, sounding more like a three year old at Christmas.

"Don't get too excited, I'm terrible at gifts remember," said John sheepishly, handing her the bag. Meredith laughed prettily, and he wondered if she knew how much her laugh sounded like her Mother's. Not that he would ever tell her that. He would be damned if he told her that.

"Awe! A recipe holder? With seashells on it? You shouldn't have!" She said with a hint of sarcasm that made John grin.

"Yeah, everyone needs one."

Meredith hunted for more. "And a box of chocolates! You haven't failed entirely,"

John scanned her front room. The majority of the space was taken up by paints and mixing palettes. A big easel stood near the window, and random canvases sat around it, most of them with finished paintings on them. The one sat on the easel, currently unfinished, made him do a double take. Was that 221B Baker Street...?

Meredith caught him looking at her paintings and smiled. "Yeah...I like your apartment. Is it creepy?"

"No it's...erm, Meredith...I had no idea..." John was baffled. He stood closer, staring at every detail. It was as if he were looking at a photograph. He cleared his throat. "I had _no _idea you were this good, seriously..."

"Hmm. I try. I'm glad you like them though,"

"You could make a killing off these!"

"Ha, yeah, it's a tough field Uncle John, but one I'm going to crack!" Meredith was in the kitchen by now. "Do you want a cuppa?"

"Thought you'd never ask," John replied, still staring at her painting.

"So I've read your blog," Meredith said to John a little later on. She sat curled on one end of the sofa with a mug of tea settled between her palms. Her Uncle didn't look very surprised.

"What do you think?"

"I liked the 'Six Thatchers' one. Didn't really see you as a blogger though,"

John shrugged. "To be honest, I write it down because sometimes I find it hard to believe any of it actually happened..."

Meredith grabbed at a chocolate haphazardly, popping t in her mouth with satisfaction. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you love all of it,"

"Love...? All of it? Erm...well..."

"Come on John! You loved the army, and you know it. And now, you love getting into crazy adventures with Sherlock Holmes. It's nothing to be ashamed of," Meredith smiled warmly, her eyes shining in the evening light.

"Alright. It is pretty...exhilarating. But this is between you and me, yeah?" John leant forward and actually looked genuinely serious. Meredith laughed, nearly spilling her tea all over her sofa.

"I won't say a word, scouts honour,"

"Meredith, you were never a scout,"

"So? Do you want me to take it back? I'll shout it all over London!" She put down her tea and jumped up, running over to the window.

"No! Jesus Meredith! Sit down!" John exclaimed in disbelief, rolling his eyes when she flashed him a sparkling grin, her unruly hair bouncing as she plopped back down on the sofa.

"I can't believe I didn't know you could paint like that..." John murmured after Meredith had calmed down enough to resume drinking her tea. She gave him a side glance, hoping he was OK. She really did worry about him sometimes. "Meredith..."

"Uncle John. For the sake of everyone, don't worry about it. We're here now, aren't we? The past will come up sooner or later but...right now, I just want to enjoy myself! I mean, this time last year, did I think I'd have my _own _apartment in _London _of all places?" She threw her hands out around herself to exaggerate her point. "Nope. And now look at me!"

"You are horribly optimistic Mer," John joked.

"I know. Something's wrong with me,"

"No...I think it's great. Really, great." He shuffled a bit awkwardly in his seat for a minute. "Erm...do you wanna go to the chippy?"

"Thought you'd never ask!"

...

She was late!

Meredith was practically running for her train. She was already ten minutes late, and, for the first time in a while, she was praying the trains had been delayed.

_Please, for God's sake be delayed!_

It didn't help that her boots were falling apart, piece by piece. She really needed to buy new clothes, which meant she needed money, which meant she needed a job. Desperately.

In her hurry she skimmed around a corner, and collided heard on with a man in a light coloured suit, nearly sending him flying in the process.

_Great, almost pulled a Sherlock there!_

"Oh God, I'm sorry!" Meredith exclaimed apologetically, as his briefcase fell to the ground with a loud clatter.

"No, no, don't worry," he said, watching her as she scrambled to pick up his things. She met a pair of dark brown eyes. He stood a little taller than her, with short brown hair and a sincere expression on his face. "Thank you,"

"I'm sorry, again!" Meredith handed him his briefcase quickly. "Really! I have to go!" She grinned brightly at him, before rushing down the busy street once more, her hair flying out behind her.

She really was going to be late!

...

Meredith had been late. Her lecturer had begrudgingly allowed her to enter the classroom, and she'd scuttled to back in shame. Trust the first lesson of the day to be Art History. She'd even done the stupid thing of leaving her notebook at home, which meant she had to write everything down on a spare bit of paper Annie had leant her and stuff it in her bag to re-write when she got home.

To top it all, the train decided to be delayed on her journey home, so instead of getting back at 6pm like she normally did, it was well past 8pm. She shoved her front door open (John had promised to come by again and fix it) and stomped into the living room.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL!"

Meredith grabbed the first thing she could reach, which just happened to be the wooden recipe holder John had gotten her as a gift, and brandished it high above her head. The person in her apartment sprang up from the sofa.

"Mer it's me! It's just me!"

"Callum?" Meredith stared at the young man in front of her, not sure whether to actually believe her own eyes. She was, after all, extremely sleep deprived.

"Yes, it's bloody me! Now put that thing down before you do some damage!"

Meredith lowered her 'weapon' and put it back where it belonged. "Well it's not exactly my fault! What on earth are you doing here?"

"I'm moving here," Callum grinned handsomely, showing off nice white pearly teeth.

"And you couldn't call? Text? Email?"

"To be honest, I wanted to see the look on your face. It was worth it,"

Meredith grabbed a cushion and threw it at him, catching the top of his head perfectly. "Well you damn scared me! You know, picking people's locks was funny when we were little Cal." Despite her annoyance, she couldn't help but match his grin, and bounded forwards to embrace her oldest friend tightly. He hugged her back fiercely, lifting her off the ground and spinning her off her feet.

"I've missed you Mer!"

...

**Sorry there was no Sherlock...next time! xx **


	7. Chapter 7

**My internet decided to pack it in. I would have had these updates to you earlier but my modem is being a bitch! A technician is coming over tomorrow to fix the problem, thank god.**

**So we have Sherlock in this, yay! I also got the first series on dvd! So life is good! Waiting for the price of the second series to go down because I'm cheap like that. Anyway I hope these are OK! **

**Review! Xxx **

"-so basically, I called Rita, who called Mrs K, who has to be the most _fittest _woman I've ever seen, don't give me that look! And she hooked me up with this sweet IT job in London, and then I thought, shit, Meredith is in London-"

Meredith rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "And you decided to break into my apartment and scare the living daylights out of me?"

Callum nodded. "Yup, pretty much,"

"You do realise I'm here to work. Unlike you, and don't bother deny it! You never took anything seriously in your entire life!"

"I took you seriously."

Meredith looked down at the floor and bit her lip. "Callum..."

"Yeah yeah, I know." He took a lengthy glance around her flat, taking in everything with his light brown eyes. Callum had a gorgeous, boy next door kind of face, with sweet dimples in his cheeks when he smiled. He hated them, of course, and Meredith loved to tease him about them whenever she got the opportunity. His hair had grown since she'd last laid eyes on him, it was thicker, but still the same chestnut brown it had always been. Overall, he looked pretty good.

He met her eyes. "Nice place,"

"Are you being funny?" said Meredith with her eyes narrowed threateningly. She knew when Callum was lying; he always tilted his head back slightly and got that half smile on his mouth.

"No, really. I like it!" He held up his hands in surrender. "It's just...well...I really need a favour,"

"Oh _God_. If you need money, forget it, I have none,"

"No it's not money. Well, the thing is, I did have a flat sorted, but the landlord is being a prick and won't let anyone move in until he's sorted some dodgy floorboard..."

Meredith knew exactly what he was going to say before he'd even finished. "You need to crash here for a while?"

"Yes," said Callum in defeat. "I'll pay for everything, I promise, and I won't get in the way. I probably won't even be here _long _enough to get in the way-"

"Callum, just shut up." Meredith pointed at her paintings. "You see those? They are my work. I have to do work, Cal, OK? So if you stay here, there will be no distracting, no noise, no nothing. Comprende?"

"I promise!" He beamed, drawing her into a bear hug so tight she was sure she felt a rib pop.

...

"Wait. One. minute." Annie stopped eating her salad and stared at Meredith. "You have a really hot guy friend staying in your flat, and you haven't invited me over?"

"He only appeared last night Annie," Meredith told her calmly, stabbing her lunch with her spork violently.

"Well, you seem really pissed off about it,"

"I am pissed." Meredith couldn't believe Callum had turned up out of the blue like that, asking her to crash at her place! It wasn't as if she could say no to him, with his puppy like eyes and happy go lucky attitude. He knew he could pretty ask Meredith to do anything for him. He said jump, she said 'how high?' because she was stupid. They had been friends for over 14 years, so her soft spot for him went way back.

"So when are you getting together with him?" said Tyler, who had been writing down notes furiously all throughout lunch. She hadn't been aware he'd been listening, so she chose to glare at him.

"What?"

"Well, isn't it inevitable?" He met her eyes. "I mean, you've been friends with the guy for years? He's good looking, he knows everything about you...do you want me to continue?"

Meredith groaned loudly, running a hand through her hair. "There is no chance we will _ever _be together again,"

"Again?" Annie squeaked, practically hurtling a piece of cucumber across the table.

"We...well we..." Meredith was aware she was blushing. "It wasn't like we were..._together..._we just kind of, in the heat of the moment-"

"Fucked?" Tyler finished, looking very pleased with himself. "Oh no wait, isn't it 'shagged' over here?"

"Was he good?" Annie blurted. She caught Meredith shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "Oh, _sorry!_ Not thinking again,"

No, Meredith hadn't thought about that night for a very long time. It had been one, stupid mistake, that effectively ruined their friendship for a good six months. It was only when Meredith's Mum had turned to the drink that he'd come back into her life. With her being so distraught and him being a good shoulder to cry on, she'd spent days, weeks, even months at his house, almost becoming a permanent resident there.

But Callum wasn't boyfriend material...at least, he hadn't been. He was the type of guy who got what he wanted from girls and left them hanging. She'd seen the trial of broken hearts. Of course, when they'd had their one night passion, Meredith thought he'd done the same to her. Got his way and left her...but in reality, it was because it was just so damn _awkward! _Having sex with your best friend and then having to face them the next day...well, let's just say it still made her cringe.

"I'm surprised Meredith. You don't seem the type," Tyler said to her as he waggled his eyebrows. "It's like I always say! Chicks and dudes can't be friends, it just doesn't happen,"

Meredith shot him an incredulous look. "Says the guy who hangs out with two 'chicks' most of the time?"

"Honey, I'm gay. It doesn't count,"

"Oh right. I suppose you have a point," Meredith grumbled. "But I don't agree with you. I know plenty of men and women who are friends,"

"How many of them have been together? I bet you _all _of them have hooked up at least once," Tyler argued.

"I...I...grr! I really don't know. You're not really helping Tyler. The fact that I'm part of the giant statistic in your head is really beginning to bug me."

Tyler just smiled widely, giving her a hearty pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I have many that you will _never_ be a part of,"

Meredith didn't even want to know.

...

Meredith made her way up the steps of the subway, into the street, which wasn't very busy at that time of night. She'd finished late, yet again, so it was around 9pm, and extremely cold! Hot condensation billowed from her mouth as she paced quickly down the pavement, and deciding her hands were too cold, she unzipped her bag mid walk to pull her gloves out.

She heard someone laugh. Pausing, she strained her ears to hear it again, and nearly jumped out of her skin when she did.

It was like hearing a laugh from a horror movie. It was eerie, and cold, and her heart began to beat rapidly within in chest.

She heard it again and visibly cringed with fright.

It was coming from a darkened alleyway, completely cliché, but still terrifying all the same. Her footsteps slowed as she peered into the darkness, the street lamp above her the only source of light.

She couldn't see anything. Had she even heard it in the first place?

_I'm going mad. Totally bonkers._

Meredith was about to turn to cross the road, when she heard it once more. Completely fuming at this point, she wheeled around. "Who is that?"

No answer.

"I know someone's there! Stop being ridiculous and show yourself!"

Still no answer.

"I'm not playing around! I'll-"

"Meredith?"

Meredith nearly had a heart attack. Her Uncle was staring at her like she'd just fallen out of the sky and landed right next to him. "Why are you shouting down an alleyway?" He asked her in bemusement.

"I..." She stared back into the darkness again, trying to see the slightest movement that might indicate who had been laughing. If anyone. "I thought I saw someone."

"Right." John glanced unsurely down the alleyway for a moment. "Erm...I saw you walking past the restaurant, me and Sherlock are having Chinese. Did you want to eat something?"

Meredith gladly entered the warm restaurant. The smell of food set her stomach off and it growled loudly as she sat down, opposite Sherlock, who was staring out of the window and didn't bother to acknowledge her presence.

What did she expect anyway?

"Hello," She said with a tiny smile, staring blatantly at the dark haired man. She didn't want to be rude to him, but she also didn't want him to think he could get away with being so rude to her, either.

His icy eyes flicked to hers instantly, and she held his gaze. She could see the cogs whirling in his brain, and her eyebrow twitched upwards. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"I don't believe there is anything to say,"

"Why not?"

"Anything that I would like to say would simply fly over your head, so I don't think it's particularly worth my time." He drawled out his words as if just speaking to her was an effort.

"Most people just say hello."

"Is there anything about me that resembles 'most people'?"

Meredith sighed. "No, I guess there isn't,"

"Chow mien! I think I'll have one of those," John said cheerfully, completely ignoring the pair of them. Meredith grabbed a menu, aware her every movement was being watched. The tingles in her stomach erupted once more, and the sensation was making her feel dizzy.

Her phone beeped in her pocket. She pulled it out quickly.

_Where are you Mer? I'm bored! Come back to me! Cal x _

Meredith smiled, her heart skipping a beat.

_I'm eating out with my Uncle. B bk soon! M xx _

"Who's got you smiling then?" John asked knowingly, catching Meredith completely off guard. She put her phone away quickly.

"Erm, no one! A friend. It's Callum, Callum Dwyer. Remember him?"

"Oh God, that little bugger?"

"_John." _

"What? He was a little bugger! You two were inseparable as kids,"

"Well, anyway, he's sort of...staying at my place. Until he can move into his own flat,"

"Callum? A boy? Staying at yours?" John asked, and Meredith couldn't help but smile widely at his attempt to be protective.

"Don't worry, we're just friends,"

"Highly unlikely."

Meredith looked up at Sherlock, whose eyes were boring into hers quite intensely. She wondered if he ever blinked. Before she could get a word in, he was already talking.

"The way you smiled when you read the text from him, and you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, even the way you're sitting now with one foot facing the door, suggests you'd rather be with him than sitting here with us,"

"Are you finished?" Meredith glowered.

"Not at all. The fact you are getting riled up now is a clear sign you've been in love with this man before and most definitely had a sexual relationship with him at some point-"

John looked pointedly away.

"-and you quite possibly love him now even though you won't admit it to yourself because you are extremely stubborn and have a fear of admitting your own feelings."

He had definitely gone too far this time. Meredith didn't know whether to strangle him or hit him over the head with her bag. Maybe both? She stood up very quickly. "My private life is _none _of your business. If it wasn't for John, I'd quite happily never see you again."

She grabbed her bag hastily. "I'm sorry John."

"How are you gonna get home?" He called as she marched away.

"I'll bloody walk!" She yelled back over her shoulder, not even bothering to look back at the insufferable man named Sherlock Holmes.

John shook his head, completely seething, as Sherlock watched Meredith go in confusion. He was so totally blissfully unaware of how much of a dick he was, John felt like punching him.

"She's my niece, Sherlock. If you have any respect, _any_ respect for me at all, you'd remember that!" John gathered his own coat. "I mean for God's sake, she's my family! By all means, be a dick to your own family, but not mine! Why can't you just be nice, just for once?"

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. "I _was _being nice!"

John paused for a minute, trying to remain patient with his oblivious friend. "I'll see you back at the flat." He hissed, marching away.

"Where are _you _going?"

"To go after Meredith! I'm not about to let her walk home by herself!" John cried, not caring in the slightest that the whole restaurant had gone quiet, and were staring at the pair of them. He stormed out, much like his niece, and hurried down the street to find her.

...

**Be a darling and tell me what you think, please? Xxx **


	8. Chapter 8

**I hope you liked the previous chapter. Review! xx **

It turned out Meredith was going to see Sherlock Holmes a lot sooner than she anticipated. It began with a college trip to an Art museum in the centre of London. Just a normal, average day. The coach carrying the 24 over enthusiastic students was full of chatter and noise, so much so that their lecturer, Mrs Palmer, had squeezed her earplugs in.

The Barbican Art gallery was within walking distance when they all piled off the coach. Mrs Palmer pulled out her earplugs and gave them all a lecture on sticking together and not leaving the art gallery, ever, unless there was a 'dire' emergency. Meredith half listened, wondering if Mrs Palmer realised they were in London, not a foreign country. By the time she'd finished everyone was grateful to escape.

"God she's a bore. I thought Art teachers were suppose to be wild and wacky." Meredith drawled, breathing in the London air deeply.

"I know right? It's like she's got something stuck right up her-"

"My what, Mr Clark?" said Mrs Palmer, very sternly, appearing behind them as if by magic. Tyler audibly gulped, staring at her with very wide eyes.

"Your erm...I was saying...erm..."

"Stuck up your brilliant arty mind!" Meredith blurted, her face extremely red.

"Nice try Kenly. You know, kids these days...no patience. I'll have you know I was very 'wild and wacky' when I was your age," She smiled, and her eyes began to drift. Meredith was struggling to breath; too busy holding in a loud bark of laughter she knew was going to burst out anytime soon.

Tyler looked as if he might die, and Annie was staring at Mrs Palmer in utter wonderment.

"Right erm, well, we'd better go in then," Meredith managed to choke out, rushing away with Tyler into the foyer of the gallery. They both ran behind a pillar and burst into the loudest fits of laughter possible.

"You two! Be quiet or get out!" A security guard yelled angrily.

"Sorry..sorry..." Meredith breathed, moving back to join Annie, who was looking around for them in confusion.

"Ah! There you are," She grinned.

"Where's Mrs Palmer?" asked Tyler, wiping his watery eyes with his sleeve.

"Still outside I think. She's having flashbacks apparently."

...

Meredith tilted her head.

What on earth was that supposed to be?

The rubber duck, she kind of got. It was a bit iconic, and very yellow. But why it was submerged in green gunk, and suspended in the middle of the room, well...that was anyone's guess.

Modern art puzzled her. The gallery was full of it. Some she liked a lot, but others, like the poor submerged duck over there, she did not like in the slightest.

Where was an Andy Warhol gallery when you needed it?

The morning was wearing on fast. Meredith and Tyler had lost Annie in a dark room with brilliant flashing strobe lights (it had been more like a rave than art), so they were wondering around without her.

They reached a section that appeared to be completely empty. The walls were strikingly white, and one of them had three holes, just big enough to see through with your eye. Meredith bounced over, hair flying, to the first hole, and peeped through.

There wasn't much there, just a blue background and some funny black shapes. She sighed, having hoped it would be more interesting, and tried the next one. It was much the same, the background was yellow, and the funny shapes were closer together, trying to form something. Now really curious, she got the third hole.

The background was red, and the shapes had been pushed together very tightly, to form three words:

_**Third Time LUCKY!**_

Suddenly the words were blocked.

An eye stared at her. It was brown, and wide. It was so close to her own eye she could see the blood red veins in the white of it; see the specks of honey over the iris. But it wasn't the colour, or the veins, that scared her.

The eye looked _crazy._

She screamed blue murder and jumped back so quickly she lost her footing, hitting the ground with a thump.

"Meredith? What the hell!" exclaimed Tyler, rushing over to her. "Are you OK?"

"An Eye! There was...there was someone behind there!" Meredith cried, pointing at the hole in terror. The colour in her face had drained completely, and her hands were shaking violently.

"_What?" _Tyler took a few strides over to the hole and stuck his own eye over it. He drew back slowly.

"Did you see?"

"Mer, there's nothing there,"

Meredith stood up shakily. "What? What do you mean? There was a _freakin' _eye there Tyler! Seriously, is this some practical joke? Very funny, you can bring out the cameras now!"

"Meredith stop shouting, we're gonna get thrown out," Tyler said mutedly, glancing around to make sure no one had heard her.

"But I'm telling you the truth, the letters said 'Third time lucky' and then there was this...crazy eye staring at me!"

Tyler frowned and peered back into the hole. "Mer, it doesn't say 'third time lucky', it's just shapes,"

"No! Tyler, do not joke with me," Meredith warned, marching up to the hole and staring inside. He was right. There were no words on the wall. It _was _just shapes. "Bloody hell...I'm going crazy." She muttered. "I'm going freakin' insane."

"Mer-"

"I'm going to loo. Meet you in a minute," Meredith said quickly, not bothering to wait for his reply as she paced through the gallery. Her mind was reeling. Not only had she just had the fright of her entire life, but she'd made a fool of herself in front of Tyler! It had to be a joke or something! One of the security guards who got bored and wanted some amusement. Who else would be bothering her? She was just Meredith, Meredith Kenly, an arty kid in London who had done nothing to hurt anybody.

The loos were down a cascade of spiral staircases. She finally made it to the bottom and sprinted to the ladies, barely noticing the man who stood talking to another a little further away from the toilets. His back was facing her, so she couldn't see his face, nor could she see the man he was speaking to. They were both just random people Meredith didn't have time for.

She went straight for the sink and ran the cold tap. Her face was still extremely pale, and she splashed water over her cheeks to calm herself down.

_What is going on?_ Were here first thoughts, as she stared at herself in the mirror. "You are not crazy." She said out loud.

The door swung open.

Meredith span around, staring at the balding man who seemed to have gotten the mens mixed up with the ladies. He looked...out of it. Drunk, almost. His eyes were blank, and he just watched her strangely.

"This is the ladies." Meredith said coldly, her blood turning to ice. He didn't respond to her at all, just continued to stare. "You can't be in here!"

Still nothing.

Meredith was tempted to start tearing her hair out, wondering if she could just slip past him and leave. It didn't seem likely. Suddenly a thought occurred to her. "Was it you? Were you the man behind the wall?"

He tilted his head, but remained silent.

"Look, I don't know who you are mate...but please, I just want to leave..." Meredith trailed off as he produced something sharp and pointy from his pocket. "Oh shit..."

He launched at her. Meredith screamed, managing to duck before he could plunge his knife into her body. She made for the door but he grabbed her arm, throwing her backwards into the side of the plastic toilet cubicle so hard she felt it crack. His arm swung for her again, the metal glinting into her eyes, but before he could stab her, someone else grabbed his arm from behind.

The man barely had time to cry out before his head connected with one of the mirrors above the sink, cracking it so it now resembled a spider's web. He fell to the floor in a heap, and remained there.

Meredith exhaled. Sherlock Holmes, the last man in the world she ever wanted to see, had just saved her life.

Typical.

He gave her the once over. "Are you hurt?"

"No." She said, peeling herself off of the cubicle and looking down at the balding man, now bleeding from the head. "Is he dead?"

"Not yet." Sherlock knelt down and turned the man over to his back. The man let out a groan, his eyes flickering open. "Who are you working for?" Sherlock demanded in his low, almost velvety voice. The man didn't respond. "WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR?"

The bald man's eyes flickered over to Meredith, and the most sardonic smile fell on his lips. She felt her insides turning cold. Sherlock looked extremely ticked off, and he grabbed the man's knife. "I know the exact location on the human body that causes the most excruciating pain imaginable with a knife," He growled, the metal twisting in his gloved hands. "Tell me who you are working for!"

The man looked fearfully at Sherlock and the knife, for the first time showing any semblance of emotion. He was about to say something, but before he could, he started to twitch and groan, foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog. Meredith stepped back as he lay on the tiled floor, thrashing around in pain, the blood vessels popping in his eyes.

"Sherlock you have to do something!" She cried, worried he may explode. The man gave one last cry of agony and became rather still, his mouth still open and gurgling.

Meredith felt sick.

"Damn it!" Sherlock bellowed, throwing the knife to the ground in his anger. "Completely useless!"

"Who the hell was he!" Meredith said. "And what happened to him?"

"He was poisoned!" Sherlock roared. "Oh, whoever he works for is good! Really, very good,"

"Works for? He was sent to _kill _me?"

"No! Of course not! If this...this _person_ wanted you dead you would be...he wanted to lead me here, but what for?"

He was drifting back into his own little world by now, pacing the small toilets like a toddler on acid. "Did he say anything to you when he came in?"

Meredith blinked. "Who? Bald dead guy?"

"Yes!"

"No. He wouldn't say anything to me...but listen, I have-"

"Why? Why did he want me here? There must be something!"

"Sherlock I-"

"He must have a way to watch me, to see what I'm doing, who I'm with, but why did he need to send someone to do his work for him-"

"SHERLOCK! SHUT THE HELL UP!" Meredith practically screamed, her voice echoing around the bathroom. He stopped talking immediately, completely taken aback.

"Thank you!" She breathed, stepping over the dead man. "I need to show you something,"

...

"Here. I saw an eye, right through there." Meredith pointed to the hole. "It was him. The guy who sent baldy. I _know _it was,"

Sherlock peered into the hole. "I see nothing,"

"I know!" Meredith growled impatiently. "But listen, the shapes had formed words! They said 'Third time lucky',"

Sherlock stood up abruptly and stared down at her intensely. "You're sure?"

"I'm positive." She watched as he smiled slightly. "What are you smiling about?"

He pulled out his phone from his pocket, tapped a few buttons, and held the screen up to her.

The text read:

_**Third Time LUCKY!**_

Her eyes widened. "I'm not going crazy!"

"No. You're not," Sherlock mused. They both stared at the blank white wall again.

Meredith tilted her head. "So, do you reckon we can get behind that?"

...

**What do you think? Let me know! Xxx **


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm really tired! But I hope this is OK. I might come back and adjust a few things but, all in all, it's gone the way I planned. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and subscribed, it really makes my day! Also, is the story description OK, or do you think it puts people off? I just don't know. Advise would be nice! **

**Enjoy! xx **

"_So, do you reckon we could get behind that?"_

Meredith had no idea why she was currently squeezed into a tiny corridor, with Sherlock Holmes of all people, just to try and find out why there was currently a bald man lying dead in the toilets down stairs.

It had been pretty easy to find the back entrance to the museum, that and the fact that Sherlock had already stolen one the Employees I.D cards, made it very easy indeed to get access to everywhere in the entire place. Meredith, despite the slight shaking in her hands, was putting on a brave face. She wasn't going to let him know she was scared. There wasn't a chance in hell she would let him know she was scared.

_Stop being childish! You __**are**__ scared and you know it, and he probably knows it too. _

"Erm, what's going to happen to the dead guy?" She managed to ask, her hand trailing the cold wall in the dimming light.

"The police have probably been called by now."

"You think?" Meredith squeaked. "I mean, the man he was working for, if he's as smart as you say he is, won't he have had it cleared up before anyone could find him?"

Sherlock glanced at her. "I doubt it. A man like that probably wants attention; he's not the sort who hides away from putting on a show,"

"Oh." Meredith jumped when loud footsteps pounded straight above them. She heard voices through the ceiling, vaguely, shouting to each other, before they faded away again. "Do you think they know we're here?"

"Most likely. Here," He pulled open a door which Meredith would never have seen had she been by herself, because it was perfectly invisible along the white wall. She watched as he peered in, having to hunch down quite low. "This is how he got in here,"

"The eye you mean?"

Sherlock huffed as he practically shoved himself inside. "Yes, the eye. No, not the eye, the man. It wouldn't have just been an eye,"

Meredith rolled her eyes, no longer able to see him. "I _know _that Sherlock,"

"Are you coming?" He called through the thin wall.

Meredith glanced down the corridor for a minute, considering her options, but her curiosity was too strong. There was a nagging in her brain that told her to just leave. Get away from Sherlock, from London, and leave all of it behind. But how could she? London was her home now. And Sherlock, well, if he was a part of her Uncle's life, he was a part of her life.

Shame.

"Yes," She replied, hastily stepping through the door.

They were inside the piece of artwork. Actually _inside _it. She could see the three holes in the wall opposite, and the three pictures hanging up for people to see. It was like a giant box. She went up to one of the holes and peered through. Luckily there was no one in that particular part of the gallery right then, otherwise she'd be the one freaking out some poor individual.

"So, what are we looking for?" Meredith asked.

Sherlock ignored her. Instead, he grabbed the edges of the third red picture, with the shapes on, and ripped it clean off the wall.

"Sherlock!" Meredith gasped, unable to believe what he'd just done. All that lay behind it was more wall. "Are you completely mad?"

"Third time lucky. Third time lucky." He was muttering, waltzing up the second picture and doing the same. "It must mean something. Third time lucky..."

Meredith followed him to the next picture, standing opposite it with apprehension. It came down just as rapidly as the first two.

"How utterly unhelpful." Sherlock murmured in annoyance.

"You've just destroyed someone's artwork," Meredith pointed out, her stomach doing that tingling thing again when he stared down stonily at her.

"Have you got anything helpful to say?"

Meredith realised she didn't have anything helpful to say in the slightest. Her brain was working overtime, but she just couldn't figure any of it out. Third time lucky? What the hell did that even mean? "What does _Third time lucky_ mean, do you think?"

Sherlock clicked his tongue. "Third time lucky is a saying, like, third time's the charm or try, try, try again. If the first two attempts don't work...then you try again two more times and the third usually does,"

"Yes but, this man...what is he trying to attempt?" Meredith asked fearfully, trying to keep up with his ramblings.

"Look!" Sherlock pulled out his phone again, showing her the text again. He scrolled down the page and there was a black and white picture of a man, probably from the 40s or 50s, staring back at her with empty eyes. Meredith blinked at it, now officially as confused as ever.

"So?"

"_So_, This man was named John 'Babbacome' Lee. He was convicted of murder and hanged _three _times!"

Meredith still had no idea what he was talking about. Sherlock must've caught the blank look on her face, because he let out a loud groan of frustration. "_Three _times they tried to hang him but he didn't die. The law stated that anyone who managed to survive being hanged three times had the right to live! Third time lucky!"

"So...that man in the bathroom, tried to kill me..."

"And you survived!"

"So this person, he's going to try and kill me again?"

"Yes. But why would he lead _me _here?" Sherlock seemed to be completely missing the point as he strolled around the small space, running his hands into his hair. "Perhaps he knew I would save you, yes, he wants to drag this out. He wants a show,"

"Why do I have the feeling this is your fault?" Meredith asked as she glared up at him, her hands very visibly shaking. She tried to steady them but nothing worked. "It's like a...a test, isn't it? I didn't die this time and..." She couldn't finish the sentence. "What are we going to do?"

Sherlock, who had stopped pacing, finally, turned to her with a smile. "Wait for the next move."

...

"It's bad enough a poor woman found a body in the ladies, and now you've destroyed a piece of artwork!"

Sherlock snorted at Lestrade's words. "Artwork?"

"Sherlock!" The detective scolded, folding his arms tightly across his chest. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

Meredith stood next to Sherlock, her head lowered in shame after being lectured by one of the curators for a good ten minutes. Trying to explain what had happened proved futile, until Lestrade strolled into the room and saved them from a further ten minutes of being yelled at.

Now, it seemed, Lestrade was going to yell at them instead. "Well?"

"The man in the toilets attacked me. Sherlock saved my life and now I might have a crazy serial killer trying to...well, kill me." Meredith said quickly. "And no, Sherlock didn't kill baldy. He was-"

"Poisoned. Whoever he was working for is a professional. He knew I would break him and get him to talk, so he found a way to kill him without being in the same room. Genius, really." Sherlock smiled slightly, and Meredith had the urge to kick him in the shin. Lestrade was staring from him to her in bemusement.

"Right. So, a man tried to kill Meredith. You saved her, but then the man died, and then you decided to rampage around the gallery in pursuit of some higher madman, who you don't know the name of or have any idea who they are?"

"Yes, sounds right," said Sherlock impatiently.

"Well it's not much to bloody go on, is it?" Lestrade cried.

"If you'd let me leave then I might be able to get you something _to go on!" _

"Meredith!"

Meredith turned to see Annie, with Tyler hot on her heels, rushing towards her. The pixie looking girl got to her first and skidded to a halt. "There you are! Bloody hell Meredith, we thought you were dead!"

"You run off to the bathroom and then we hear about a dead body!" Tyler panted, his face red. "We thought it was your dead body!"

Meredith didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Guys-"

"Are you the police?" Annie asked Lestrade demandingly, pointing at his chest. "Meredith didn't kill anybody! I haven't known her long but she's not a murderer!"

Lestrade's eyes widened slightly. "I know-"

"She's too nice to kill anybody! Seriously, it sounds cliché but Meredith wouldn't hurt a darn fly!"

"I know Meredith didn't kill anybody!" said Lestrade with a sigh, wiping perspiration from his forehead.

"Oh. Good." Annie' eyes trailed over to Sherlock, who looked positively suicidal. Meredith hoped she wasn't planning on flirting with him, because she knew how that would go, and it wasn't going to be pleasant for anyone involved.

"Right. If that's cleared up, I'd like to be going," Sherlock drawled, adjusting his scarf around his neck.

"But Sherlock!" Meredith protested, as he began to stroll from the room in his usual long strides. She ran past Annie and Tyler, through the door and jogged up in front of him. "Wait!"

"What? What is it?" He growled, as if they hadn't just had the whole 'third time lucky' encounter.

"You know what!" Meredith couldn't believe his ignorance. Did he not realise she was just a girl? She couldn't deal with serial killers and people dying! She didn't want to think what might be next for her. What if the next attempt to kill her succeeded? Meredith wasn't ready to die! "I don't know what to do Sherlock,"

He threw his head back and stared up at the ceiling for a minute, a loud huff emitting from his throat. "Next time you are attacked, don't die,"

Meredith felt her jaw drop. _"Are you serious?" _

"Yes. You can't _do _anything. You just need to wait for the next challenge,"

"Sherlock-"

"Don't _die._" He said again, his eyes making her insides boil. With one last look at her, he strolled down the corridor and left.

_Bloody Sherlock Holmes!_

...

**Any good? Please let me know! Xxx **


	10. Chapter 10

**A big thanks to Lestat's Violinist, Blackcat711, XXTakaraXX and Gwilwillith for all your reviews and support, and of course everybody else who has reviewed too, it really means a lot! **

**Enjoy xxx **

"Why am I here?"

No answer. Meredith stared at the dead man in front of her. The black body bag had just been unzipped, to reveal his old, and very blue looking body. His skin was wrinkled heavily around his eyes, which she remembered had stared so blankly at her during the attack. His beer belly protruded dramatically, covered in little black hairs, and his general odour was pretty appalling. Meredith wrinkled her nose, slightly worried she'd almost been killed by a man clearly overweight and with no sense of personal hygiene.

"I mean, what is it going to achieve?" She murmured.

"I got another text." Sherlock told her abruptly. Meredith snapped her eyes up to the dark haired man opposite her, who handed her his phone.

It was just a picture, no words this time. It showed an empty glass case, maybe for a tarantula or a pet lizard. Either way, it was extremely unhelpful. "Why is this guy texting you? I thought he wanted to kill _me_?"

Sherlock took back his phone. "Clearly he likes playing with both of us,"

"Clearly." Meredith murmured. "So what do you make of it then?"

"Haven't the faintest." Sherlock leant into the man's body until his nose was practically an inch from his chest. "Not married. Definitely. He has no one to tell him he needs a shower,"

"And there isn't a ring." Meredith pointed out.

"Yes, I was getting to that," Sherlock growled, flashing her a dark look. Meredith bit her tongue, because she could feel those tingling sensations beginning to erupt in her stomach again, and it was starting to irritate the hell out of her.

"As I was saying. No wife. Probably drinks heavily, considering the size of his stomach, works in his garden a lot," Sherlock lifted one of his hands. "It reeks of pesticides, and he has soil beneath his fingernails..."

He suddenly stopped, stood up straight, and stared at Meredith. "What do you think?"

She blinked. "What?"

Sherlock sighed sharply. "What do you _see?_"

"Oh, you're asking me now?"

"It's always good to have another opinion."

Meredith wasn't sure what to say. The bald man, who she noticed was labelled 'Mr Harry Oakland' didn't really seem to have anything else outstanding about him, other than what Sherlock had just said. He did have a funny red shape on his belly, just at the corner, where it rounded off into his thigh...Urg, no. Meredith was not going down there!

Even in death, his facial features seemed...depressed. Like he wasn't happy. An easy target, in other words. "He looks sad."

Sherlock quirked his eyebrow but said nothing.

"Erm...there's...well, a red mark there," She pointed at it swiftly. Sherlock bounded over to her side of the body, peering at it.

"Could it be like...I dunno, a rash?" Meredith guessed, wrinkling her nose again as Sherlock lifted up the man's flabby stomach with his hands, which were thankfully adorned with rubber gloves.

"Or a nettle sting? You said he works in his garden,"

"Brilliant analysis, but no, this is not a rash or a sting," Sherlock said, making Meredith feel a little put out. She had tried, hadn't she? He continued poking the dead man with his fingers. "This looks more like a bite,"

"A bite?"

"Yes." Sherlock gave a little grunt. "How remarkably simple,"

"What is?"

"Whatever escaped from the cage in the picture has obviously bitten this man and caused his death,"

Meredith folded her arms. "Escaped?"

"Yes, obviously. Who would own a poisonous animal and be stupid enough to set it loose?"

"A maniac, maybe? Aren't we dealing with of those right now?"

Sherlock ignored her. "We're going to need his blood samples. Surely someone would have detected the poison in his bloodstream by now?"

As if on cue the door swung open, and a browned haired woman with a mug of coffee in one hand and a clipboard in the other tottered into the morgue. She looked up and started, nearly dropping her coffee in fright. Her small, innocent looking face formed one of complete shock.

"Sherlock! How...how did you get in here?" She asked in a small, intimidated voice, glancing at Meredith.

"Molly! Tell me what has become of this man's blood samples? I need them urgently,"

"That was why I was coming down here..." Molly said in confusion, putting her coffee down quickly. "There was poison in his blood stream-"

"From the bite wound on his stomach, yes, but what kind of animal bit him?"

Molly must've been used to Sherlock's abruptness because she barely batted an eyelid to his rude words. "It was a snake,"

"A snake?" Meredith blurted, her eyes widened. "A snake bit him?"

"The snake didn't escape, no, the snake was released, it must've been released into Mr Oakland's garden and then it bit him...and he was on his way to the hospital when he was intercepted and told to attack you! Every detail was planned to the minute!" Sherlock was speaking so fast it was hard for Meredith to keep up. He was literally bounding around the morgue, as if he'd been told he'd won the lottery.

"I just...I can't even begin to tell you how utterly random this is!" Meredith cried, tempted to start screaming. "You're telling me, that someone managed to get a snake to bite him, in order for him to attack me and then die at the precise moment you started questioning him? Who could plan something like that?"

Sherlock grinned, strolling up to her and gripping her shoulders fiercely. "Someone interesting!" He bellowed at a decibel way too loud for her eardrums. She stared up at him in utter bewilderment, before he pulled her towards him and kissed her heartily on the cheek. Her stomach was practically writhing, like something was alive in her gut and trying to break free. He let her shoulders go and she staggered backwards.

"Molly, I need those samples in the lab!" Sherlock commanded, leaving the two women to stare after him. Meredith didn't know how to feel anymore, and was praying she wouldn't blush.

Molly had decided to start eyeing her with a frown on her thin lips.

"I'd...better get those samples to Sherlock..." She muttered.

...

"So your John's niece?"Molly asked, a few minutes after they had arrived at the lab. Meredith was currently watching Sherlock peering into a microscope, the level of concentration on his face quite outstanding.

"Yeah," Meredith replied, a little distracted with everything else going on in her mind.

"Have you known Sherlock long?"

"No...not really,"

"I'm good with dead people. No, I mean...I'm good with erm...showing Sherlock dead people," Molly shook her head, as if mentally scolding herself.

"Molly don't open your mouth unless you've got something useful to say," Sherlock drawled. Meredith frowned at him.

"That was a bit rude Sherlock,"

"It's OK, I'm used to it. I usually do what he says. Oh no, I don't _do_ what he says all the time I mean..."

"Death Adder!"

Meredith turned to the tall dark haired man, who was now rapidly typing something into a laptop. "A what?"

"A Death Adder!" He repeated. "Their poison can take up to 48 hours to take effect, so Mr Oakland could of been walking around for hours before he even realised he was dying!"

"So what does that mean?" Meredith voiced rather impatiently.

"No idea," Sherlock mused, still looking extremely excited. Though Meredith was terrified of what might happen next, his enthusiasm was rather catching. She felt a little better being around him, because at least he knew what the hell was going on. Sort of.

...

**More on the way! Review? **


	11. Chapter 11

**Hey! Sorry for the slow update and sorry this is short! Been really busy lately, but an update will come shortly. Thanks to everyone who reviewed my last chapters! **

**Enjoy! xxxx**

Meredith was beginning to wonder, yet again, why she was trailing after Sherlock Holmes. She barely knew him, she'd almost died that day, and it was becoming slightly harder to not pass out.

In general, Meredith was quite passive. She didn't react to situations like others would, because she'd learned to block things out. Of course nearly dying was something else entirely, so the fact her hands were still shaking was a clear sign her body was betraying her.

"Seriously, Sherlock...this is a really bad idea," She whispered, standing in the doorway of Mr Oakland's house. It was dim, and a brown haze filtered through the air, the dust catching in the light of the sunset coming through the windows. Sherlock was already half way up the narrow hallway, not listening to a word she was saying.

Her heart was beating rapidly. She fished out her phone from her bag, leaving the house and pressing the call button.

John answered extremely quickly. _"Meredith! Where the hell are you?" _He roared down the phone, sounding angrier than she'd ever heard him before. She winced, peering back into the house. Sherlock had disappeared.

"I'm with Sherlock,"

"_Oh, you're with Sherlock! So I suppose that makes it all better then, does it? Jesus Meredith, I got a phone call telling me you were attacked on your college trip, and then you just disappear?"_

"I know, I'm really sorry!"

"_You should have called me!"_

Meredith grabbed a fistful of her hair in frustration. "Yeah I know-"

"_I'm going to murder him. This time I really am,"_

"He saved my life,"

"_I really don't care! I want you to come back to 221B now,"_

Meredith squinted into the dark house. Sherlock was still nowhere in sight. "OK, OK. I'm coming right now,"

"_Right now Meredith,"_

"OK," She hung up the phone, stepping back into the house, her leg doing a funny little jig. "Sherlock?"

There was no answer. "For God's sake..." Meredith hissed, hesitantly making her way forwards into the darkness. "Sherlock!"

She grumbled a few curses under her breath. Should she just leave him? He would probably have left her if the situation had been reversed! That thought didn't help, and neither did the fact that none of the light switches were working.

"Sherlock!" She whispered, coming to the end of the hall. If anywhere could look more like the set of a horror film, this house would. Two doors stood on either side of the terribly claustrophobic hallway, and a hatch right at the end stood ajar, with wooden stairs leading down to a basement. She couldn't see anything that was down there, but the fact it was open made her slightly curious. Maybe Sherlock was down there? She called his name again, and upon hearing no answer, decided to quickly brave it.

Her boots clicked on the stairs as she descended warily."Sherlock, if you are ignoring me I will kill you!" She said out loud into the black room. "Sherlock!"

She grabbed her phone and pressed a few buttons. The torchlight setting, which, she hadn't exactly needed until now, was like a miracle. She shined it in front of her and it landed on what appeared to be a glass case, like the one in the picture, most likely for a snake. It was empty. There were more of them further along the very long table; in fact, Meredith counted at least ten cases, all without their occupants. She made her way further into the room, her curiosity getting the better of her, again.

There was a bulb suspended in the air from the ceiling. Meredith reached up and flicked it on, watching as it flickered dimly, barely making enough light anyway. Sherlock wasn't in the basement, which she'd figured out by that point regardless. Her eyes fell on something moving a little to her left, her heart giving a horrible jolt. She jumped backwards, knocking over one of the cases so it fell with a crash. Her eyes widened as she realised what it was.

The snake who had probably been minding its own business, hissed angrily from the floor, not looking too pleased with Meredith, who was frozen in shock. It reared its head, showing two very large fangs.

She staggered backwards, realising that every snake that should have been in a case was loose and free, slithering all over the basement. She heard a slam and looked up. The stairs had disappeared.

_OK, this time I am going to die._

Meredith eased backwards, hoping the snake in front of her would maybe forget she was there...or something. It hissed at her and she let out a squeal, searching for something to defend herself with. What could she do? Snakes were fast, and if this one decided to bite her, well, who knew what might happen? Plus she didn't want to piss it off anymore than it already was. If that were possible.

A string hung from the latch on the ceiling, where the stairs had disappeared. She could possibly try to pull them back down, but that meant passing the snake. Maybe if she made a quick dash? Or she could ease around and squeeze around the table...

Where the bloody hell was Sherlock?

She would call John! Yes! He would know what to do! She pulled her phone from her pocket, but it only took one glance at the screen to realise her dilemma. She had no signal.

Meredith caught sight of a white sheet hanging on a stool. That was it!

She reached over slowly, counting in her head, as if that would make it easier! The snake was not happy with her, at all. It hissed again and she almost lost her balance, her arm reached out to the furthest it could go. Her fingertips brushed the white material, and she managed to latch onto it. Another snake slithered past her, making her jump, but this one didn't seem too bothered by her in the slightest. Her veins were literally pumping and she could hear her heartbeat in her eardrums.

Pulling the sheet up fast, she threw it over the snake, making it give an angry hiss. She jumped over its thrashing form fast and made a dash for the hatch.

The ceiling was low enough for her to reach the string, which she pulled with all her might. As if by magic, the stairs fell down, and she used her arms to pull them to the floor. Without a second glance she flew up the stairs, ran down the hall and fled from the house.

The adrenaline which had kept her going the whole day failed her, and she fell down to her knees in exhaustion. She sat on the pavement panting, trying to fight the dizziness in her head, when a hand fell onto her shoulder. She screamed and leapt up, nearly hitting Sherlock in the face with her bag.

"What the hell did you do that for?" She exclaimed breathily.

"I got another text." Sherlock said, not even bothering to inquire as to why she was pretty much having a fit in the middle of a London street.

"I really don't care!" Meredith cried. "I've been in London for barely a month and I almost get stabbed in a lavatory and eaten alive by snakes! Yes, if you hadn't already noticed, I'm freaking out!"

"Well I'd say the snakes were challenge two, wouldn't you think? So we just need to figure out what the third one will be-"

"NO!" Meredith roared. "I told Uncle John I'd go straight to the flat so that's where I'm going!"

...

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	12. Chapter 12

**Hey guys. Yes, I know. It's been a while! I'm so so sorry! Life caught up with me I'm afraid, and so much has been going on, I haven't had the chance to update. This one is a little short. I planned to make it longer, but this seemed to flow quite nicely, and don't worry, another update will follow!**

**Thank you all for being fantastic readers, and I would really be honoured if you gave me a review, even though I took ages! **

**Enjoy my lovelies xx **

Meredith stared at the gun. Pointing right to her face, the metal gleamed coldly in the dim light. Tempted to start screaming, she wondered if this was it. Was this how she was going to die?

Five seconds passed like five minutes.

The woman holding the gun was shaking. She was nervous. Of course she was nervous! But Meredith couldn't talk her way out of this one like before, because although the woman was nervous, she was determined.

"He told me I had to kill you," She said shakily. _"I have to."_

**A few hours earlier...**

Meredith was sat next to Sherlock in a taxi, her arms folded, staring out of the window and trying to keep herself calm.

They were heading back to 221B Baker Street, so Meredith could have a long lie down, and preferably take some painkillers for her stress induced headache.

She was getting sick and tired of being targeted by a murderer. Not only that, but the big head sitting next to her seemed to find all...fun. Well, it wasn't fun, it was damn right terrifying, and Meredith craved normality. She had a horrible inclination that her luck was running out. Two attempts of killing her...and all she could do was wait for the third.

Sherlock was flicking through his phone, making no attempt to make her feel any better. Meredith rubbed her tired eyes, the silence in the cab very heavy and slightly awkward. No matter how difficult all of this was for her to take in, Meredith was beginning to realise that panicking was probably not the best thing to do. However, Sherlock's utter lack of panic was actually extremely concerning to her. She was downright in a mess right now, and Sherlock couldn't see that? Could he not _see _how scary it was to be almost murdered?

She was fiddling with her hands now. Twisting them together in a nervous dance, slightly tempted to ask Sherlock about the text he'd received. It had been a very long day...and her college trip seemed like years ago now, despite it only being that morning. Had she really almost been killed twice? Or was this some surreal dream she was having? She might wake up and be back home, her Mum passed out on the couch with an empty bottle of vodka somewhere on the floor. Judith screaming at her for not waking her up in time for whatever it was she had going on that day, and the nagging sensation somewhere in her mind that life _had _to be better than this.

Isn't that why she'd moved to London? To get away from the drama? From the constant heartache? So why, in the first month of moving to the bustling city, was she now in more drama then she had been before she'd arrived?

It was the _not _knowing that really made her nervous. Not knowing who was stalking her, why they were stalking her...it was an absolute nightmare!

"Ah shit, bloody traffic!"

The angry growl of the taxi driver made Meredith jumped out of her skin. She could have sworn Sherlock's lips twitched into a smirk, his eyes still on his phone, and she scowled in annoyance. "So..." She began, but it was all in vain. Sherlock literally threw open the taxi door, and without a word, was half way down the street. Meredith stared after him, her eyes as wide as saucers, trying to figure out if what she'd just seen actually happened, or if she was just imagining it.

No. He was definitely going, going...gone.

Meredith, in a blind panic and completely ignoring the driver's loud swearing, flew out after him.

This was where the jogging thing came in handy. Only Meredith wasn't jogging now, she was full pelt running down the pavement making every other person on the street bite the dust, literally. By the time she caught up with him, she was out of breath and felt like lying on the ground in a curled up ball for a nap.

"Why the hell did you run off like that?" She exclaimed angrily, now matching his footsteps. Sherlock glanced down at her.

"Because whoever is texting me is leading me to that building," Sherlock pointed ahead of them, to what looked like the remains of an old factory, sitting on the bank of the Thames. "It is most definitely a trap,"

Meredith didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "So _why _are we headed towards it?"

Sherlock smirked. "To spring the trap. Obviously,"

"But I promised John I'd go back to the flat-"

"Going back to John isn't going to help you,"

"Neither is heading towards another ominous looking building!" Meredith cried, coming to a halt as Sherlock rounded on her, his ice blue eyes almost blinding her.

"I don't think you realise how much you actually enjoy this," He stated, leaning further towards her. "A scared person would of already run away, but no, you want to know why, deep down you're _very _curious and that curiosity is burning away at you, but you're going to fight it because...well, you want to be like every other dull person on this planet," Sherlock took a breath, and considering the amount he'd just said to her, one breath didn't seem quite enough. "If you wanted to go to the flat you would have stayed in that cab,"

_Why_ was he right? Meredith felt her insides boiling. He was pompous, and rude, and so ignorant! But he was right. She was curious, scared as hell, but decidedly curious. Whoever was trying to kill her...well, whoever it was, she wanted to give him a good jab in the eye. Then, maybe then, try to work out the reasoning behind attempting to murder her.

If Meredith went into that old building, she may not come out. If she didn't go inside, she'd have to walk away, and wonder how else that psychopath was going to get her. Whatever lay in that place was her last challenge, and if all went well, it may all be over...

She didn't want to die. Her life hadn't exactly been perfect, but it hadn't been terrible either. She had uncle John, Annie and Tyler...Sherlock? Hmm, she would have to see about that one. Even her crazy ass sister, Judith, yeah ,she had her. Meredith was lucky.

Well, lucky until that moment, at least.

She felt her hair being tugged by the wind as she stared up at Sherlock Holmes. "I'm not saying you're right," She lied, earning her another smirk, which she ignored. "Just...if we go in there...can you do one thing for me?"

"What?"

"Don't let me die."

...


	13. Chapter 13

**Here is the next chapter guys! I hope you enjoy! Don't forget to tell me what you think! **

**xxx**

"_Don't let me die."_

The theme of her attempted murders had to be horror films. It just had to be. What else could explain all the creepy settings she and Sherlock seemed to be running into? A creepy bathroom, a freaky house, and now an abandoned factory with barely any lighting and a horrid smell of damp.

"Oh wow." Meredith whispered in total apprehension. The whole place was dark. She could hear water dripping slowly from the walls. Old, rusted crates sat empty, scattered around haphazardly, some lying on their sides. A few pigeons fluttered over the rafters, cooing angrily at being disturbed from their slumber. There were a set of stairs spiralling upwards, leading into darkness. Wherever they went, Meredith didn't entirely want to find out.

Entering another room, she gulped when she saw a large array of hooks hanging from old chains on the ceiling. "Thats...not a great sign,"

Sherlock circled the room. "This used to be a meat factory," He took hold of a hook. The already weak chain snapped half way and fell to the ground with a loud clunk, echoing around the empty building.

"Right. So why did he lead you here then?" Meredith asked quietly.

"Me?" Sherlock turned to her. "I think he wants you,"

"Thanks for that. I really needed reminding," she glanced around the dark factory, which looked more like a set from the Texas chainsaw massacre. Her head began spinning, and all of her instincts told her she needed to get both of them out, straight away. "Sherlock...I think we should go,"

Meredith looked around for him and found him standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring upwards. She stepped forwards. "Sherlock there's nothing here, let's leave,"

"There must be something," He grumbled in his deep voice, taking another turn of the room before disappearing into another.

"Sherlock-" Without warning the ceiling began to crumble. Meredith gasped as the hooks started ripping from the worn out rafters, crashing to ground heavily and almost crushing her. She stumbled backwards to the floor, covering her head as dust and brick pelted the ground besides her.

Then everything was silent. Heart pounding, she lifted her head, coming up onto her hands, watching with squinted eyes as the dust settled.

There was someone standing the other side of the rubble. Meredith couldn't make them out at first, what with the dust being so thick. It wasn't Sherlock. Sherlock was taller, ominous. His presence alone was enough to let anybody know who he was. So if it wasn't Sherlock, then who?

"Hello?" Meredith called out, hoping against hopes that it was really Sherlock and she'd just gotten too much dust in her eyes. Something glinted in the low light, an arm was rising, and there was a gun.

Shining, glinting, teasing.

Meredith felt her stomach sinking somewhere into her intestines. Her voice stuck, her throat tightened, and the fear began to grip her like never before.

"_Don't let me die."_

Where they her words? Yes, they had been her words...just minutes ago. Don't let me die. Don' . .

"I'm not going to die." Meredith whispered, scrambling up quickly. The stranger with the gun didn't fire, but Meredith didn't care. She had no other way out, except those stairs. Those _damn _stairs! "Damn! Damn!" She cursed, weighing out her options in her thickly fogged mind. The gun wasn't moving. Neither was the dark face behind it. It was almost as if they were waiting for her to run up the stairs, waiting for the perfect moment to strike...

Meredith bolted up the decaying metal stairs. Even if she had to shimmy down a drain pipe, there was no way she was dying! She ran all the way to the top, all the way to the second floor, the last floor. The windows had been fully smashed in, and a very cold breeze was rushing through the entire room mercilessly. Her blond curls flew around her face as she clambered to the window, stopping dead, her hands on the sill, staring out at the dimming evening light of London.

"It worked."

The voice came from behind her. Meredith span around and stared at the gun, which was pointing right to her face, the metal gleaming coldly in the dim light.

Five seconds passed like five minutes.

The woman holding the gun was shaking. She was nervous. Of course she was nervous! But Meredith couldn't talk her way out of this one like before, because although the woman was nervous, she was determined.

"He told me I had to kill you," She said shakily. _"I have to."_

"Donna?" Meredith gasped, trying her best to keep calm.

"Be quiet! You did your talking; now it's my turn!" Donna spat. She had dark, drained circles beneath her eyes. Her brown hair was limp and barely washed, and her eyes...they looked worse than before. The hands she held the gun in shook terribly. "You...you ruined everything!"

"Donna I-"

"Shut up!" Donna exclaimed, sweat beading at her forehead. "He spoke to me. He made me realise that you ruined my plan! I had a plan! I was going to kill my _husband _and then I was going to die, that's how it was suppose to be! You ruined it!"

Meredith was gasping for breath now. "I was just trying to help," She choked, a few tears running down her face.

"Well you didn't. You made everything worse," Suddenly, she started to laugh, a horrible evil laugh that gave Meredith a spine tingling shiver. "Did you like the snakes? That was his idea. I made that man in the toilets attack you, though...it took his persuasion..." She seemed to go into some kind of trance for a moment, as if thinking of fond, twisted memories.

"Who are you talking about? Who told you these things?" Meredith asked hurriedly, hoping to keep Donna talking at least long enough for help to arrive.

"I can't tell you." She replied swiftly. "Now I have to kill you."

"Please don't do this..." Meredith whispered. "You can still walk away,"

Donna only smiled, cocking the gun in her shaking hands.

"I wouldn't do that."

Sherlock stood a not five feet away, his own gun raised and pointed straight at Donna's right temple. Meredith caught his icy gaze for a moment, her heart beating so fast she wondered if they could hear it.

"I would drop the gun and step away if I were you," Sherlock growled. "Unless you want me to decorate the wall with your brains."

Donna really had no choice. She lowered the gun slowly, and her eyes blazed.

"Now," Sherlock stated, taking the gun from her limp hand. "Who is it you are working for? And don't waste my time,"

Donna shook her head. "I will never tell you, no one speaks his name,"

"Would that name, perhaps...be Moriarty?"

The woman's eyes grew wide, and she visibly started shaking. "Who...who told you that?"

Sherlock's eyes flashed. "So it is Moriarty. Interesting."

_Who the hell is Moriarty? _Meredith thought furiously, trying to get her breath back. Donna cursed under her breathe angrily.

"He told me this would work!" She wailed, grabbing fistfuls of her hair and pulling.

"Who is Moriarty?" Sherlock asked forcefully, grabbing a tight hold of Donna's wrists. The woman stared at him with glassy eyes. Meredith narrowed her eyes, suddenly aware there was a red dot dancing on the side of Donna's head. Donna gulped, not bothering to struggle in Sherlock's grip any longer.

"Moriarty...he's..."

BANG.

Meredith screamed. A warm spray of red splattered over her face and top. The shock was induced further as she watched Donna's body fall limp like a sack to the ground. Sherlock was blinking heavily, also covered in wet, sticky blood. He seemed as shocked as Meredith was, only he wasn't panting, or most likely on the verge of a panic attack. She stared at the blood on her shirt and tried desperately to wipe it from her face.

"Meredith. Breathe."

"I can't..." She gasped, tears falling thickly down her face.

"It's OK now. Everything's fine, it's over," Sherlock put his hands on her shoulders, peering down at her steadily. Meredith stared at him, and for the first time since she'd met him, she didn't want to hit him, or tell him what an arse he was. She found herself calming slightly, the weight of his hands on her making her feel less alone. More...human.

...


	14. Chapter 14

**Hope everyone liked the last chapter Enjoy! **

"...shot. A sniper,"

"A sniper?"

"Yes. She started talking about Moriarty. She was going to tell me who he was-"

"Wait a minute. Moriarty? Like, who the taxi driver was talking about?"

"Yes..."

Meredith sighed. Somehow, listening to the conversation between Sherlock and her Uncle wasn't making her feel any better. Boy, had John been pissed. Meredith had never seen him look so pissed in her entire life. The fact that her 'test' was over, and (everyone was hoping) that whoever this Moriarty was would leave her alone now, calmed her Uncle's temper down slightly.

She couldn't get the picture out of her head. It was how quickly it had happened. One minute Donna was alive, she was just _there, _and then bam. She was gone.

Was that how meaningless life was to this...Moriarty? He had twisted Donna's mind to the point of breaking, and then used her in some crazy game just to...to what? Prove a point? To scare Meredith half to hell? What was the _point _of it all? It was driving Meredith mad.

"_It's ok now, everything's fine. It's over..."_

Meredith inhaled sharply, trying not to let any of the memories come back.

_She was calming slightly, the weight of his hands making her feel more alive. More human. A tear cascaded down her right cheek. Sherlock, who watched the tear running down her face, slowly lifted his hand, his eyes confused, as if he didn't really know what he was doing as he ran his thumb over her blood stained cheek..._

"Meredith?"

If she had jumped any higher she might have gone through the metal roof of the Ambulance she was currently sitting in the back of. John climbed in, planting himself next to her. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you,"

"ha...think I've had enough of that..." She joked feebly.

John half smiled. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For bringing you into this...it just always bloody happens lately," John ran his hand over his face. "Sherlock he...he just tends to have enemies,"

Meredith glanced over Johns head. Sherlock was looming over Lestrade, both in deep conversation with each other. "I've never met anyone like him,"

John snorted. "I don't think anyone has."

"But I don't understand...why would one of Sherlock's enemies target me?" Meredith asked, staring at John and waiting for an answer. John looked like he might know, because there was something in his eyes, something he wasn't going to tell her. Not yet, anyway.

"I don't know," he answered.

"None of it makes any sense," She grumbled. "And you know what the worst part is? All of that craziness was for nothing. We don't know who Moriarty is, or why he did what he did,"

"We'll figure it out,"

"And Donna? How did she get out of custody?"

"She got bail," Lestrade's voice came from nowhere, as he and Sherlock seemed to have appeared beside the ambulance like ghosts.

"How? She wasn't supposed to get bail," John said.

Lestrade shrugged with his hands sticking out from his sides. "No idea. Someone bailed her out, no one knows who. I have no idea how it happened,"

"I do." Sherlock piped up, meeting Meredith's eyes. "Moriarty,"

Lestrade sighed. "Yeah, you keep saying that Sherlock, but who the hell is 'Moriarty'? It's no good giving us the name of a man who by all accounts doesn't exist,"

Sherlock was still looking at Meredith. She didn't know why, but his eyes kept penetrating hers, and her stomach, well, it was flipping like a pancake.

He finally released her from his gaze and turned to Lestrade. "Oh he exists. I've no doubt about that,"

...

It had been agreed that Meredith was staying at 221B that night. No amount of reasons for her not to stay would fly with John, who was determined to make sure she was 'fully recovered' and babbling on about getting her to a councillor. He then rang Callum, who Meredith had actually forgotten about entirely, and told him to look after her place while she was gone. Meredith rolled her eyes. Her Uncle's definition of 'looking after the flat' and Callum's definition of 'looking after the flat' were probably extremely different.

"Oh my goodness, you look terrible," Mrs Hudson said as soon as they entered 221B. She was bustling about, most likely cleaning, but stopped dead when she caught sight of Meredith. "Is that, is that blood?"

"Yes. Mrs Hudson can I have a word?" John cut in quickly. Sherlock was over to his laptop in two strides, not evening bothering to offer Meredith a drink as he started typing furiously fast.

She heard the hushed whispers of her Uncle and Mrs Hudson coming from the hall, before the brown haired woman came back in with a small but concerned smile on her face. "It's all right sweetheart, I'll bring you up some of my husband's old shirts, they've been cleaned don't worry, so you can have a shower,"

Meredith smiled slightly. "Oh yeah...thank you,"

The older lady turned to John. "And do offer her some tea, remember I'm-"

"Not your housekeeper, yeah, got it," John said as he took off his coat. "Thanks Mrs Hudson,"

Mrs Hudson left, and Meredith wanted to sit down, but her priority now was to remove the blood stained clothes from her body as fast as possible. Luckily the landlady came back rather quickly with shirts, a big fluffy white towel and other various bits and bobs.

Standing under the hot shower felt amazing. Meredith scrubbed her skin fiercely, the shower gel that was already in the bathroom smelling strongly of peppermint. Mrs Hudson had given her some lavender soap, but Meredith liked peppermint. It was refreshing and felt cleaner, because all she wanted to do was wash away the events of the day.

"Where is John?" Meredith asked a little later, wearing a red tartan shirt and a pair of grey joggers that had been folded up at the ankles. Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table, staring intently into his microscope.

"He's here,"

Meredith scanned the apartment. "I don't think he is,"

The dark haired man sat up straight. "Oh yeah...he went out for food,"

"Oh," said Meredith uneasily, as an awkward silence descended on the pair.

Sherlock sighed, throwing himself back dramatically. "Boring."

"What is?"

"This!" He cried, massaging his temples. Suddenly he lowered his hands and captured her with his icy gaze. "You were angry with me,"

Meredith blinked at his capability to switch from one conversation to the other in a few seconds. "What?"

"Before when I mentioned about you and what was his name...? Oh yes, Mr Dwyer. You were angry with me for bringing him up. Why?" He said at a pace so fast Meredith almost didn't catch any of it.

"I...well it's not your business..."

"Yet it was the truth, was it not?"

"Well yes but I-"

"That's all I needed to hear," Sherlock clapped his hands together and strode into the living room, throwing himself down onto the grey sofa.

_What the hell was that about? _Meredith thought angrily, pacing into the living room. "What do you mean 'that's all I needed to hear'?"

"The sentence is rather self explanatory," He drawled, eyes closed.

Meredith huffed loudly. "Did you ask me those questions just so you'd have the satisfaction of being right?"

"I know I am right. I asked you those questions because I am bored," Sherlock sat up rapidly. "Tell me, did you sleep with Mr Dwyer once or a few times before you realised it was a big mistake?"

...

**Reviewing is cool! Xxx **


	15. Chapter 15

**I apologise for the wait. Really, I am sorry! I will try to update as soon as I can, for now, I hope you enjoy! (If you are feeling nice please review!) **

**Xx**

John held the fish and chips tightly in his hands, the warmth from the hot food heating up his fingers nicely. It was the only thing giving him any joy, however, because his thoughts were more focused on his niece, and what he was going to do about her. He had suggested counselling, but Meredith had given him a look that read '_no sodding way'_ so he'd kept his mouth shut on that idea. The whole reason he wanted her in 221B was to keep a close eye on her, in case she started developing post traumatic stress disorder. After all, John new a lot about that.

He approached the dark front door and Mr Chatterjee, the man who owned Speedy's, the sandwich cafe beneath the flats, waved at him merrily as he wiped down tables. John waved back, before slipping his key into the lock and pushing the door open.

Of course, the first thing he heard was screaming.

"You are the most insensitive, nosey, horrible, ignorant man I have EVER MET!" Meredith exclaimed angrily from upstairs, before there was a rather loud CRASH!

John flew up the stairs two at a time, throwing the door open with a bang. "What the hell is going on?!"

Both Meredith and Sherlock froze. The scene before John was really quite strange, and slightly unsettling. Sherlock had his hands tightly clamped around Meredith's wrists, and she was wedged against him and his desk, her back arched so much she was nearly looking at the ceiling. John blinked a few times, trying to decide if what he was seeing was in fact real.

Sherlock immediately released Meredith's wrists. Her cheeks were on fire from embarrassment as she straightened up, the look on her Uncle's face making her feel all the more worse. Her heart was hammering uncontrollably, all of her anger still ebbing away in Sherlock's direction. Not only had he insulted her, again, but now he'd completely embarrassed her in front of her Uncle. What was he thinking, grabbing her like that? Okay, so she'd thrown a rather large science book at him, which luckily (for him) had just skimmed over his head and crashed heavily into the wall behind him, but it was no excuse for him to grab her. Or stare at her. Or start pushing her further and further to the hard wooden surface...

Her Uncle's voice snapped her out of her day dreaming.

"I'm gone for five minutes and you two are..." John trailed off, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"It's not what it looks like," Meredith fumed, running a hand through her messy curls, before pointing at Sherlock. "I can't take one more minute of him John!"

"Then I have proven my point," Sherlock answered her, almost smugly.

"Your point?" Meredith growled.

"That you have no control over your emotions, and definitely not your temper, which I really think you need to work on,"

"You just made that up!"

John swore loudly as he dropped the food onto the countertop.

...

Meredith pushed her food around with her fork absentmindedly, her head resting on her palm. It was around half 11 at night, which meant she'd spent most of the day fearing for her life, and now had the rest to ponder and feel sorry for herself.

She wasn't going to feel sorry for herself, it was stupid. Meredith had never felt sorry for herself in her life and it was not going to start now. The days spent cleaning up her mother, nursing her mother, they were all days wished she was somewhere else, and here she was, somewhere else, in danger, and somehow, it didn't feel bad. Meredith liked the danger. She liked the thrill. It was different, exciting...and new.

Sherlock seemed indifferent, which was apparently only natural to him, and Meredith didn't wish to speak to him. This was a lie. Inside, she desperately wanted to talk to him, because Sherlock screamed danger, and Meredith was slightly attracted to it. She'd only just discovered this, however. Normally Meredith took life as a simple routine, mundanely doing the same things over and over again, until her brain turned to mush and all that was left was a shell of a person who used to have talent...

"Meredith, are you ok?"

Her Uncle's voice made her start. Meredith snapped her sharp green eyes at her John, who was watching her with immense concern. "Meredith?"

"I'm fine," she replied a little too quickly. "Erm, do you want this? I'm not hungry,"

John frowned. "Meredith-"

"I think...I want to sleep."

"Well Okay, I'll just go and sort out my room...it's a bit of a state-"

"She may as well use my room."

Meredith whipped her head around to see the silhouette of Sherlock, sitting at his desk, peering intently at his latptop screen again.

John's eyebrows shot up. "Er...what?"

"Your room is complete mess, and you will need to change the bed sheets. My room is tidy and the sheets are clean. Plus I won't be sleeping tonight anyway." Sherlock said all of this without looking at either of them. Meredith caught eyes with her Uncle, who shrugged.

"Fine. I'm actually too tired to argue right now,"

...

_BANG._

_Meredith felt the warm gush of blood splatter over her face, feel the life leaving Donna, the clunk of her body hitting the cold floor..._

She sat up with a gasp.

At first it took her a few seconds to remember where she was. Meredith scanned the dark room in extreme haste, for a moment thinking she was back home with her mother, but then quickly realising she was in...Sherlock's bedroom.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. The clock read 4:09. 4:09 in the bloody morning! Maybe she was more scared than she first thought?

Her bare feet hit the floor as she slipped from the detective's thick bed sheets, which, Meredith had to admit, were very comfortable. Her eyes fell onto the thick black coat hanging on the back of the bedroom door and wondering if that had been there before she'd fallen asleep.

She tiptoed into the living room. Sherlock, who had earlier made it quite clear he wouldn't fall asleep, was lying on his back, eyes closed, and breathing deeply. Meredith took herself into the kitchen, and battled her way into one of the cupboards to find a mug.

Drinking hot milk normally helped Meredith sleep, so she was going to try it. She had a slight shock to find a human finger vacuumed packed in amongst the chilled food, but soon got over it. It was Sherlock after all. She grabbed a pint of milk, and then shoved her mug into the microwave. Within a minute the milk was steaming, so she sat down at the table, staring at the waves of heat lifting from her beverage.

After a while this activity became slightly mundane. She sighed, taking lengthy sip of her milk, and enjoying the warmth that spread into her body. Spotting a pencil on the side, Meredith decided she wanted to draw.

She found a stack of printer paper in the corner of the kitchen, grabbed a pile, and set to work. She drew everything; from the buildings she seen that day, to the people. It was a relief to spill out her emotions onto paper. It made her mind stop reeling for a few moments, as she focused on remembering exact details. Her pencil worked hard and fast, each pencil stroke an individual mark, blending in to create the finished piece.

A set of footsteps suddenly reminded her she wasn't by herself in 221B.

"Don't you sleep?" Sherlock asked her as he entered the kitchen. Meredith visibly stiffened. She was still slightly angry with him, so instead of an answer she shrugged, gathering up her drawings.

Sherlock's eyebrow quirked. "_Can't_ sleep?"

"Well done genius. Anything else you know?" Meredith snapped. "I had a cup of hot milk, but you've probably already figured that out right?" She gestured to the mug with her hand.

"Actually I wasn't asleep when you came into the kitchen earlier," Sherlock mused.

Meredith watched as his hand whipped a few of her drawings from the neat pile she'd made. For some reason, she started to feel nervous. Why? Why the hell was she feeling _nervous? _It was almost as if she wanted his...approval.

He was studying her drawings intently. She didn't like it. Art was important to her, and the last thing she needed was for him to insult her, because there was no telling what she might throw at him next.

"You drew these from memory?" He asked her.

"Yes," Meredith replied shortly, hoping her voice hadn't faltered. "They're just rough sketches though," She reached out to take them from him but he pulled them away from her grasp.

"You remembered all these details just from looking?"

Meredith stared at him from across the table, wondering why he was looking at her like...like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. "I...I just remember things. I've been able to do it since I was young,"

As quickly as that disbelieving look had appeared on his face, it vanished. Sherlock cleared his throat, placing her drawings back to the table. His eyes fell onto the one sketch in the pile that was of him, and for a moment his gaze lingered onto it, before he marched into the living room and threw himself back down onto the couch.

...

**Review? **


	16. Chapter 16

**Hey guys, thanks for having the patience of a saint. I really don't have much of an excuse so you can all chase me down the street with pitch forks and what not if you really want to! **

**I'm changing Meredith's sister's name from 'Judith' to 'Laura' because the 'ith' and the end of both names really bugs me. Plus when she makes an appearance, I believe she suits Laura better, and it's a little less Victorian, and well, it's because I said so. :-P**

**Hope you enjoy this! Let me know what you think **

_Thump._

_Thump._

_THUMP._

Meredith opened her eyes. She could hear thudding on the wall outside Sherlock's bedroom, and it had woken her from a perfectly peaceful slumber. Sunlight glazed through a tiny gap in the curtains, and it would have been a perfect way to wake up, if not for the thudding.

With a groan, she got out of bed, shuffled across the room and flung the door open with a scowl on her face.

"What the bloody hell is that noise?"

Sherlock was dancing around the apartment, throwing darts at the wall and trying to hit the centre of his smiley face. He paused mid-throw, clad in a light blue dressing gown and grey pyjama pants. He was eating a piece of toast whilst throwing said darts.

Meredith sighed. "Can I try?"

Sherlock merely shrugged. Meredith took a dart from his hand and threw it as hard as she could at the wall. It stuck straight into the plaster with a satisfactory WHUMP, though it was nowhere near the smiley face target. "Wow. That was fun," She grinned, pulling it from the wall with a sharp tug to throw it again. She looked up at Sherlock who was uncharacteristically quiet. "What?"

"Morning Mer...holy shit, why are you destroying the wall?" John said as he appeared from his bedroom.

"Well I'm going to guess he's doing because he's bored," Meredith said as she pointed to the tall detective. "And I really have no excuse, apart from the fact I was nearly killed yesterday. Which I suppose is an excuse, but I won't use it, because well it's stupid. Oh hell I've forgotten what we were talking about. Oh yeah the wall,"

"Meredith why don't you sit down, I'll make you a cuppa," John said with a worried expression on his face.

"Okay," Meredith threw the dart in her hand at the wall for the second time, this time hitting the smiley face square in the centre. Sherlock was still being too quiet, and Meredith didn't like it. Nor did she like the way he was just staring at her. To avoid any more arguments she simply followed her Uncle into the kitchen, her head swimming with thoughts and most of them concerning Sherlock.

This was not good.

"I tried to phone your Mum but she didn't answer," John said nonchalantly, making Meredith physically blanch.

"You did what!?"

"She has a right to know, you almost died for crying out loud,"

Meredith shook her head, taking a mug of tea from John. "She won't care,"

"She might. Anyway I thought it would be better than ringing Laura,"

"I swear if you ring her I will kill _you,_" Meredith pointed sharply at John, who held up his hands in surrender. He looked around the corner towards Sherlock, who was busy throwing his darts again.

"What did you do to him? He usually never shuts up around you,"

Meredith prayed her face wouldn't flush. It was true though. What had she done to him? Since he'd seen her drawings, he'd barely said a word to her, or anyone for that matter. She just shrugged as Mrs Hudson came tottering into the flat, calling Sherlock a 'terrible mischievous vandal' before rushing out as Sherlock threatening to start throwing darts at her.

...

September rolled into October, and before long, Meredith's 20th birthday was looming. Being 20 was a slightly scary prospect. Annie had voiced she didn't want to be older because she would be considered an 'adult' and would have to fend for herself, but Meredith had been fending for herself since she had turned 12, so it really made no difference.

Callum, who was three years older than Meredith, still acted like he was 12. And he was still in her flat.

"Cal, when are you leaving?" Meredith groaned one morning as she came into the living room to find him asleep on her couch, bare feet up on the arm. She smacked his forehead hard and he made an array of grunting noises.

"brrrmmm...why did you do that?"

"To get you up. Don't you have work or something?" Meredith drawled, popping some bread in the toaster.

"Day off," Callum responded, knocking one of her canvases as he staggered up and quickly catching it before it fell over and destroyed her other works. "Shit!"

"Right. That's it. OUT!" Meredith roared, marching over to the couch. She began gathering up his clothes which were strewn all over the floor and stuffing them into his bag.

"Mer! What are you doing?!"

"Getting you out of my apartment! I can't take anymore! You take up all of my space, you drool over my couch AND you have no idea how much you smell of...of boy!"

Callum grinned at her, which only infuriated Meredith more. "You think I'm joking?" She threatened, taking his bag of clothes to the window. "I will throw these outside Callum, and oh look, it's raining!"

His face dropped. "Shit, look I'm sorry, please don't do that! Mer seriously, I promise I will be out by tomorrow!"

Meredith was about to reply when her phone began to ring loudly in her pocket. She pulled it from her jeans. "WHAT?"

"_Jesus...I'm deaf,"_

"Oh shit, sorry John," Meredith said quickly. "Callum is driving me mad,"

Callum cast her a dark look as he took his bag from her quickly.

"_He's still there? That little..." _

"John."

"_Sorry, that wasn't...what I am trying to say is, I got that job, you know the one at the medical centre?"_

"Oh my god that's great!" Meredith cried a little too loudly again. If John hadn't been deafened before, he definitely had been now. "I'm so happy for you,"

"_Yeah so, I was thinking, do you want to go for a drink later? Celebrate and such?"_

"Of course, I would love to,"

"_Okay brilliant...oh wait..." _Meredith could hear Sherlock's drawl in the background, before there was a lot of shuffling, and Meredith swore she heard the words 'cipher' and 'paint' before John's voice came back again. _"Sorry, Sherlock case thing, anyway I will text you later Mer,"_

"Okay, bye," Meredith hung up her phone, her temper slightly calmer. Callum had the good sense to bring her breakfast, whilst giving her an 'I'm really sorry, please don't throw my clothes out of the window' look with his eyes. "Cal, tomorrow, please?"

"Sure, sure,"

"You don't sound sure,"

"I am I promise. What did John say?" He took some of her toast with a mad grin.

"He got that job he was on about, wants to go out for a drink later,"

"Oh great, count me in!"

Meredith just rolled her eyes and took her toast back.

...

"Ah there you are!" John smiled warmly, as he greeted his rather frozen niece. She had wrapped her pale pink scarf high up her neck to shield her skin from the harsh bitter cold wind sweeping the London streets. Her nose and face were flushed from the icy cold, and her mad hair curled wildly over the hood of her thick coat. John hated the fact his niece was very pretty, because he did not like the amount of men looking her up and down as she walked past. After all, it was only natural for him to hate any guys after her. She was his niece!

"Hey John," Meredith beamed, sitting on the mahogany couch right next to the fire that was roaring happily in the corner of the little pub. She let the warmth rush over her gratefully, pulling off her gloves to get the full benefit. "Congratulations!"

Callum plonked himself right next to Meredith. "Hey John, it's been a while,"

John narrowed his eyes slightly, Meredith noticed, as he shook hands with the younger man. "Yes, it has been a while,"

"How have you been? You're still as short as I remember!" Callum laughed. Meredith elbowed him sharply.

"Yes. Still sleeping on my niece's couch then?" Her Uncle replied through gritted teeth.

"How about you get us all a drink, Cal?" Meredith said slightly louder than was necessary, trying to defuse the tension dramatically. Callum agreed with slightly more persuasion and headed to the bar.

"What was that about?" Meredith asked her Uncle quickly.

"I just don't like that kid Mer, he's gotten worse with age," John said as he glanced at Callum, who had begun to chat up a brunette in a mini skirt.

"I know he's a bit full on, but he told me he is getting his apartment tomorrow,"

"Yeah he's been telling you that for weeks,"

"Well this time I actually will kick him out," She saw the brunette giggling madly at something which was apparently hilarious, but Meredith knew Callum had a terrible track record when it came to jokes, so the woman was either drunk or stupid. She chose the latter.

"Of course you will...Christ." John's eyes had trailed away from Callum, and were now fixed upon a certain dark haired consultant who'd just blazed with his coat collars flicked up against his face. Meredith stupidly felt her stomach flipping uncomfortably again as he paced over. Did he not realise the presence he had when he entered a room?

Meredith remained as calm as she could do, meeting his icy eyes and feeling her face growing hot. What the hell was wrong with her?

"Sherlock, you came," John greeted with a half smile, half unsure look on his features.

"Yes well you made it difficult for me not to come since you've obviously found joy out of finding a 'job'," He drawled in that grumbling, low voice.

Meredith frowned. "It's a good thing, Sherlock. Someone has to pay the rent for that flat,"

"Bloody hell, that girl kept me talking for ages, I barely got away," Callum announced happily as he trudged over to them with two beers and a coke balanced between his hands. He spotted a calculating Sherlock as he sank back down next to Meredith. "This one is new,"

Meredith took her coke quickly, hiding her wince behind her glass. She caught Sherlock's eyes. _'Be nice'_ she was pleading silently, hoping he would clock on. Unfortunately he didn't.

"Who are you then? Are you this Sherlock Meredith has been on about?" Callum asked.

Meredith's cheeks burned. "I haven't been _on _about him, I just told you what happened," She grumbled, not liking the smirk on Sherlock's face one bit.

_Why oh why had she agreed to this? _

"You solve crimes then? Don't look like much of a detective mind," Callum blithered out loud, making Meredith cringe slightly.

Sherlock opened his mouth. "Actually-"

"So John! How did work seem? Think you'll fit in?" Meredith cut in quickly, ignoring the withering glare she was currently receiving from those icy blue eyes. Her stomach began flipping again, only this time it felt worse than ever, and she almost jumped from the sheer force of it. John, who had been preparing for one of Sherlock's monologues, seemed slightly startled, as he took a second to reply.

"Oh...erm yeah, it seems like a really great place," He said as he glance at a stony Sherlock, who was still staring at his niece. Suddenly the tall man stood up, his chair almost flying out behind him as he pulled his leather gloves back on.

"Well this has been fascinating but I have work to do,"

"Sherlock-"

"Of course you have work. Why would you congratulate your friend when you have all those dead people waiting for you?" Meredith's tone was extremely cold, almost as cold as the weather was outside. She was now just plain angry at Sherlock, and she didn't know why. Why was it so hard for her to be around him?

"How odd it is that you think I care about your trivial lives that mean absolutely nothing to me in the slightest. If you are trying to insult me it hasn't worked, and might I suggest that you tell Mr Dywer once and for all were you stand, because I believe he wants to sleep with you tonight in order to stay in your flat." Sherlock turned is heal and left, leaving behind three very uncomfortable people.

...


	17. Chapter 17

**Not too long, sorry. But I hope you like. I hope everyone had a lovely Christmas and New Year, and my apologies for not writing sooner! It's been a busy one, but I managed to squeeze this one out! Would love to get some reviews, because I honestly want to know what everyone thinks, thanks! Xxxx **

Four Years earlier...

_The smell of smoke, sick and alcohol had all mixed together by now. Meredith stopped at her Mum's sleeping form on the couch, spying the half empty bottle of vodka on the floor. Rage boiled inside of her. There was a slight moan from her Mum, as she turned over in her sleep, last night's dinner now caked and splattered onto her own top. Wrinkling her nose, Meredith took the vodka from the ground, sniffing it and almost gagging._

"_What are you doing with that?" Laura hissed from the doorway which had been kicked in many years before. _

"_Nothing." Meredith replied, taking it to the kitchen with her._

"_You can't drink it. Mum will go mad," _

"_I am not going to drink it!" She unscrewed the lid and to Laura's horror, poured the contents down the sink._

"_NO!" Came an almost strangled howl. From nowhere, Meredith's Mum leaped into the tiny kitchen, grabbing the now empty bottle from Meredith hands. "God! You little brat! Why did you do that?"_

"_Because it's fowl, Mum!" Meredith cried. "Look at the state of you!"_

"_How dare you! How bloody dare you!" Her Mum screeched, taking a fistful of Meredith's long, wild hair, and pulling._

_Laura ran away, like she always did, and covered her ears._

...

After 'that' awkward conversation, life continued on. Meredith decided to avoid the dark haired detective like the plague, because despite how infuriating he was, she knew in her heart he was right. About most things. Well, not _all _things...but definitely about Callum.

She honestly didn't know why she still conversed with Callum. He was just as infuriating as Sherlock, only Callum wasn't so smart and could be easily manipulated if necessary. Plus the boy had no control, all it took was a slim girl in a skirt and he was done. Meredith cringed when she thought about their night of misguided, sloppy sex, which at the time had seemed amazing but for her very first time...it should have been something special.

Of course Meredith blamed her mother. If her mother hadn't been a raging alcoholic, if they hadn't argued that night, if she hadn't thrown that massive bottle of vodka at Meredith's head, she wouldn't have felt the need to run away and straight into Callum's arms. But bygones were bygones and she wasn't about to let something as stupid as that ever happen again.

"You know what, if someone wanted me dead, I would probably freak," Annie said as she stood behind her easel, carefully sketching the ensemble of random objects in the centre of the room. "But to be honest, it sounds totally exciting, especially the parts with Sherlock Holmes," She waggled her eyebrows suggestively at Meredith, who had been regaling her tale of woe to an eager Annie and Tyler all morning.

"Uck. Have him. Honestly, if I see him again I might-"

"Snog his brains out?" Annie grinned, earning a loud snort from Tyler.

"Stop it. Seriously,"

"Oh come on Mer. Even I thought he was sexy, the way he was stood there all brooding and mysterious, and when he looked at you I thought he might eat you or something," Tyler said with a very large grin on his face, matching Annie's. They both started laughing manically, to which Mrs Palmer shot them death glares.

"Mer don't look so pissy, we are only joking," Annie whispered. "Though he is good looking,"

"Can we please not talk about Sherlock Holmes right now?" Meredith growled through gritted teeth, pounding her chalk onto her paper a little harder than was necessary.

She hadn't liked what Sherlock had said about Callum, but as soon as they'd left the pub, she sent him packing. He completely outstayed his welcome, and the new found space in her flat now was actually a blessing. Of course Callum came over every so often to brag about his new apartment, which he had finally moved into, but she didn't mind that. He was devious, yes, but also harmless.

"Alright honey. But honestly, don't you think you should talk to a professional about what you went through?" Tyler asked, not seeming too bothered at Meredith's glare.

"I'm not a mental case,"

"I'm not saying you are Mer bear, just don't overestimate the power of the mind,"

Meredith couldn't help but start to giggle slightly. "Oh god, you sound like my Uncle. Don't worry about me guys, I'm completely fine. I always bounce back." She paused for a second. "Did you just call me _Mer Bear_?"

"Yes." Tyler replied. He looked at his artwork and made a disgusted face. "I _hate _observational drawing."

"It sucks right? You should see Meredith's, she can draw bloody anything!" Annie pointed at Meredith who flushed, remembering Sherlock's stony gaze upon her work. _Hold on, why the hell am I thinking about him? _She mentally slapped herself. Why was he invading every damn corner of her mind?

...

It was raining, heavily. By the time Meredith left the underground and crossed the street, she was soaked to the bone. People around her were rushing hurriedly along the pavement, as car lights danced and reflected on the roads that were soaked in black water. Meredith didn't particularly mind the rain. She liked how cool it felt on her skin, how it refreshed the air, cleansing the dirty city and making it shiny and new again.

A taxi blazed past through a large puddle and sent a wave of water crashing down on her. She let out a squeal, the water penetrating her clothes and sending cold shivers over her skin.

"Great." She grumbled, now resembling a drowned rat. She continued walking, wrapping her arms around herself as she prepared to cross the road.

Another taxi appeared before her eyes, but it stopped right next to her, and the door flung open. The last man on the planet she ever wanted to see met her eyes.

_Damn. Holy damn._

"Are you going to get in or would you prefer to stand in the rain for longer?" Sherlock drawled. Meredith quickly realised she didn't have much of an option, so she quickly jumped into the warmth of the cab and shut the door behind her.

There was a very stony silence for a moment. Meredith didn't dare look at him, because she didn't know how well she could control her temper. She began to shiver. "Th-thanks," was all she managed, leaning over and ringing her sodden hair out slightly.

Suddenly Sherlock pulled off his coat without a word, handing it to her quivering form. She took it slowly, gratefully draping the warm and dry material around her body, and cursing him for acting like a human being just when she wanted to yell at him. Instead they sat in silence for a while longer, Sherlock staring out of his window, looking as brooding as he ever did.

"Why did you say...those things in the pub the other day?" She finally asked, turning to face him properly for the first time. He snapped his cold eyes at her, and they softened, only slightly, when they met her wide gaze.

"Should I shy away from the truth? Would you have preferred me to have stayed silent, knowing what I did, and allow his behaviour to continue?"

Meredith blinked. "There are subtle ways of telling someone something,"

"I am not subtle."

"No. You aren't." She agreed, fiddling with her hands in her lap. "But...why would you care about what Callum wanted to do?"

"I find him irritating."

"Him? Or me?"

"_You_ are very irritating."

Meredith frowned. "If I am so irritating then why am I in this cab? Why did you stop?"

Sherlock watched her intently, his eyes never leaving hers. "I don't know."

She was very surprised by his answer, because it wasn't often he admitted he didn't know about something. Meredith had no idea why her stomach was flipping like a pancake. She was so confused, and annoyed. One moment she completely despised Sherlock and the next...she sort of liked him. It was tearing her apart! There was a crackled of energy between them that Meredith hadn't ever felt with anyone before. Almost like a thin sheet of ice lay between them, prone to shatter at any given moment, causing complete chaos and destruction.

The taxi stopped shortly at her apartment building. Meredith removed Sherlock's heavy black coat, preparing herself for the rain again. As she passed it back to him, their fingers met, and part of the wall cracked. She prayed she wouldn't flush as she murmured a 'thank you' and rushed from the taxi, away from Sherlock Holmes, away from his electric touch.

...


	18. Chapter 18

**Hey!**

**I am very sorry it has been a while. I won't bore you with excuses, just know I am trying my best! I hope you enjoy this chapter and excuse any errors (it is rather late!), I will re-read this to make sure when I am less tired. **

**Enjoy and feel free to review! **

**xxxx**

...

The idea of visiting 221B sent butterflies flying around her stomach. Meredith had no clue why the prospect of being in Sherlock Holmes's company was so terrifying; all she knew was the taxi ride to her place the other night had made her freak the hell out.

Meredith generally didn't worry about men, because she tended to stay away from relationships. Too much drama and angst for her liking. Callum had proven that sex seemed to be the only thing that mattered, and though she knew there were plenty of men out there not just looking for sex, she didn't feel like going though all of the toads before she found her prince.

Sherlock was definitely different from any other guy she'd ever met. Being with him was dangerous and exciting, but also frustrating. John was a brave man to live with him. Meredith didn't know how her Uncle put up with the random body parts here there and everywhere. Not to mention his complete lack of social skills, empathy, and general understanding of the human race. She was surprised John hadn't killed him by now.

She knocked on the front door a few times, Mrs Hudson opening the door with a beam on her kind face.

"Oh it's so nice to see you here, I do love seeing your pretty face, would you like me to bring up some food? I doubt the boys have gotten anything in, they are so dreadful, never go to the shops!"

Meredith smiled, half way up the stairs by now. "No no, honestly it's fine, just a flying visit!"

Before she even began to knock on the door, it flew open, revealing a bedraggled looking Sherlock. His shirt was covered in blood, again, and one of the sleeves had been ripped completely down his arm and torso. He resembled someone who had been dragged through a hedge backwards.

"What the hell happened to you?" She blurted out before she could stop herself.

"Oh. I thought you were John." He replied flatly, sauntering back into the apartment.

"Is he not here?"

"Evidently."

Meredith let out a sharp breath through her nose as she followed him, noticing his shoes were missing from his feet. "Did you leave him somewhere again?"

"Possibly," Sherlock turned his back on her. Meredith gasped in shock.

"Oh my god you're bleeding!"

"I did actually notice that, it is hard to be slashed with a kitchen knife and not notice,"

"Why the hell aren't you at the hospital you idiot?" She exclaimed loudly as she stared at the long cut running diagonally down from his left shoulder towards the centre of his back. "You might need stitches!"

"Why do you think I am waiting for John? Hospitals are tedious and full of disease,"

"Bloody hell." Meredith began searching the kitchen for a first aid kit as Sherlock disappeared into his bedroom. She had no idea why she was bothering to help him, but she couldn't just leave him to bleed all over the apartment. "Ah!" she cried as she found what she was looking for. "Sherlock I found..." She trailed off as he came out of the bedroom completely topless. With no control over her own actions her eyes raked over his bare chest, taking every single detail into her memory.

_Shit._

"...I found a first aid kit!" she managed as she stumbled over her words like the biggest idiot to ever walk the earth. Meredith knew she was flushing and she hated herself for it. _He is just topless for God's sake! I mean hell, he looks amazing topless and...no! Get a grip Meredith! _Her thoughts were spinning so fast it took her a minute to realise he was talking to her.

"...then it would be helpful if you could help me before it bleeds more as it is may get infected,"

"You what?" She asked dumbly. His eyes rolled to heaven, making her insides squirm even more.

"I am asking you for your help, do you love making things harder than they need to be?" Sherlock said in his usual drawl. Meredith swallowed hard.

"Okay," She mumbled.

Meredith was kicking herself. Wasn't she trying to stay away from Sherlock Holmes? And now she sat on the arm of a chair, with barely an inch between her and him, cleaning his goddamn wound! He had his back to her, obviously, to give her easier access to the gash along his skin, which on closer inspection wasn't as deep as she had thought. She used a cloth and water to clean it first. Meredith was pretty much an expert at cleaning up wounds; she'd done it her whole childhood. The thought made her cringe. She got so lost into her own thoughts that she began pressing on the wound a little too hard.

"OW." Sherlock hissed. "That hurt."

"Well it isn't any more pain than you deserve, the way you talk to people," Meredith bit back, digging around the first aid kit for antiseptic. "So how on earth did this happen?"

"I chased a man into his flat, he hid behind his kitchen door and jumped me."

"Ooo. Someone actually outsmarted _you?_" Meredith teased. "Sounds incomprehensible to me,"

"He hardly outsmarted me. I could have easily predicted his attack had I not been moving so swiftly to catch him,"

"Okay then," Meredith agreed, mainly to humour him. "You know, I used to do this all the time for my sister, clean her up after she fell off of her bike or something. She was older than me, but she could never stand the sight of blood." She pressed the cloth to his wound to try and suppress the bleeding as she found the antiseptic in a little blue tube at the bottom of the first aid kit. "I've never been afraid of blood."

"There is little use in being afraid of blood." Sherlock said as he tried not to wince as she applied the antiseptic.

"There is little use in being afraid of anything," Meredith replied. She spied a small scar sitting just below his right shoulder blade. The urge to touch it was overwhelming, and her fingers found it before she could stop herself.

Sherlock visibly stiffened under her touch. His shoulders tensed, like she'd given him an electric shock. Meredith felt the slightly raised skin beneath her fingertips, her body tingling in delight just from touching him. What the hell was wrong with her? She withdrew her fingers quickly. "Where...where did you get that?"

He was looking at her and she began to squirm. "A long time ago." He told her shortly.

"Sherlock?"

Her uncle's voice made her jump. Meredith nearly fell from her perched position on the arm of the chair, as John appeared into the apartment.

"Meredith, what..what is going on?" John said as he leaned against the door frame completely out of breath.

"Sherlock he was injured...were you with him?" Meredith squeaked, noticing there was no blood on John at all.

"No, well yes but he left me. Why the hell did you run off like that?" John barked at Sherlock, as Meredith felt relief flood through her veins.

"It is hardly my fault that you can't keep up John," Sherlock said to the still winded man, though his eyes were following Meredith's every movement.

"Are you OK John?" She asked to try and distract herself from the way her heart was racing at fifty miles an hour. "You didn't get attacked did you?"

"No! Because apparently I was two miles behind," John focused his gaze onto Sherlock's wound. "What if you'd needed stitches?"

"I didn't," Sherlock replied shortly.

"Well yes but...oh never mind." John pulled off his jacket and threw himself down onto the armchair nearest the fireplace, sighing in relief. Meredith still couldn't come to terms with the fact she was suddenly finding it hard to breathe in front of Sherlock bloody Holmes, and it was even harder considering he was still watching her every move like a hawk.

"Well erm...this was fun but I better go," Meredith said quickly, avoiding those icy cold eyes. John looked up in surprise.

"Already? But-"

"I have a ton of college work to do and finding a job isn't easy these days!" She practically squeaked, grabbing her bag and scarf.

"Oh, Okay...but I wanted to ask you-"

"I will call, I promise! Bye!" Meredith chimed, rushing down the stairs and flying down the street as quickly as her legs would carry her.

...

Walking hurriedly down the street downwards her apartment building, Meredith soon began to realise she was being followed. A black car was sliding along the road behind her, being rather too obvious for the young girls liking. She sped up hastily, fearing the worst. What if it was the killer again? He might have come to finish the job or...or do something horrible to her again. Meredith didn't think she could cope with that.

Suddenly her phone began buzzing in her pocket, making her jump to the sky. Not recognising the number, she ignored it and continued walking.

But it rang again and again and again. Meredith started to get very annoyed.

"Hello?" She barked in annoyance, still speed walking down the pavement.

"_Though I am impressed by your fast walking, Miss Kenly, it would be very useful to me if you would get into the car waiting for you at the end of the street,"_

The voice was none she had ever heard before. His voice was deep and posh, like an old English gentleman. She pictured a top hat and a cane, and probably a pot of tea. Meredith froze, her eyes finding the black car as the door opened and a young woman with brunette hair stepped out.

"Why?"

"_There are matters to be discussed." _

"No. I am not getting into that car,"

"_At this very moment in time there are over 422,000 surveillance cameras in London alone. Wherever you choose to go, I will be one step ahead of you. Whether you get into this car today, or tomorrow, it doesn't matter. Because you will get into that car eventually. So make a decision. I have a serious amount of patience,"_

Meredith sighed loudly. Whoever this guy was, he sounded like the real deal. "Fine." She grumbled, hanging up and walking up to the car, wondering if she was making the right decision. The brunette barely glance at her, opening the car door to allow Meredith to slip inside, before getting in herself. The door shut with a click, and the car began to move.

_Please God get me out of this alive!_

...

"Miss Kenly. Do take a seat."

Sitting behind a large wooden desk, sat a tall looking man, with dark eyes, and light reddish brown hair. Somehow, the look in his eyes, the way he moved his hands...they reminded her of someone. His nose was crooked, maybe from being broken in the past, and he wore a plain, grey, expensive looking suit.

He was gesturing towards the chair, which Meredith sat in slowly, her eyes moving around the plain office room. She was trying to find an escape route, should the need arise, and his eyes looked upon her with humour, as if he knew what she was doing.

"I don't suppose you have any idea what you are doing here, do you?"

Meredith's eyes widened. "No,"

"I do see why he has taken an interest in you. Though, I would not of thought he would be enticed by should an obvious beauty," The man smiled crookedly, adding to Meredith's confusion. Who the hell was this man?

"Then again, maybe he is just as obvious as the rest of us. Maybe."

"Who the hell are you? And don't get cryptic, because I am not in the mood." Meredith snapped, folding her arms and looking like thunder. The man smiled in amusement, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Do not fret Miss Kenly, I am not going to do anything to harm you. I merely want to ask how it is you know a certain Consulting Detective," He placed his hands back on the desk.

"Sherlock? You brought me all the way here to talk about Sherlock bloody Holmes?"

"So you _do_ know him," The man mused. "I find I always receive that reaction. So how is it that you know Mr Holmes?"

"Surely you know. Aren't you watching him?" Meredith asked, deciding to come up with her own conclusion. If this man was asking about Sherlock, he was either a criminal or in government.

"Not all of the time, it's harder than it should be. To be perfectly honest, I am surprised I haven't been mentioned to you before now. I thought for sure Doctor Watson would have enlightened you."

"You know my Uncle?"

"I have met him, yes. Rest assured he knows who I am,"

"Oh. So are you like, a criminal or something?" Meredith was genuinely curious now. The man smiled wanly.

"Some would accuse me of that, yes. But no, I am not a criminal Miss Kenly," He stood up and paced to the office window. "I happen to be very curious about Sherlock Holmes and...what he does with his time. I know how easily he can become...well, let's just say, a nuisance."

Meredith's eyebrows were so far up her forehead they had probably disappeared into her hair. "So what do you want from me?"

"Nothing, really. If you are anything like your Uncle, I doubt you will take up my offer," The man perched himself on the edge of his desk. "He said no very quickly."

"Is it something along the lines of 'spy on him for me'? Because if that is the case, then no. I won't. He may be a pain in the back side, but he has saved my life at least two times," Meredith stood up. "So are we done here?"

The man laughed in amusement. "Again, loyalty so very quickly. I do see why he likes you,"

Meredith frowned. "Who _are_ you?"

"Just a curious bystander...yes...I do believe _you _will be very interesting. Very interesting indeed."

Meredith heard the door open behind her, the brunette woman who had her eyes glued to her smartphone tottering in on black heels. The man sank back down into his chair, his eyes still fixed on Meredith.

"I am sure we will meet again Miss Kenly,"

"Yeah...I have no doubt about that." Meredith retorted, taking her leave as hastily as she possibly could. Who was that man? And why was he so curious about Sherlock? She thought about everything, the office, the shiny oak wood, the pristine carpeted floors. His face, the shape of it, the way he moved...

And then she had it.

"That man is Sherlock's _brother_?"

...


	19. Chapter 19

**Hey, next chapter is up! **

**Sorry it's been a while again. Work and college are making it hard to update! I am still trying though. I also have to say that for all Cumberbatch fans out there, the new Star Trek film is AMAZING. I recommend seeing it at an IMAX, because well...you know, 3D Benedict isn't the worst thing ever, is it? Hehe! I saw an interview with him recently on TV and series three of Sherlock is currently in production, so uber excited for that too. (It's been way too long!) **

**Anyway, enjoy! X **

Meredith pulled her hair out of the high ponytail with a sigh of relief. She glanced outside, noticing a few drops of rain on the window. Her Saturday had passed by smoothly, which was quite amazing considering she'd just completed her first day at a new job.

Mrs Hudson had actually proved extremely useful. Normally, Meredith knew her Uncle John wasn't keen on the landlady listening in on conversations that were not really her concern (though he did appreciate her bringing him the odd cup of tea), this time however had been very different. After Meredith had wantonly expressed her need for a job, Mrs Hudson had bustled down the stairs to Speedy's, ensuring Meredith got a part time job and ensuring she was paid higher than minimum wage.

She was very lucky. Mr Chatterjee was a friendly, open man, and as long as she ignored his subtle passes at her and pretty much every other woman who walked into the cafe', it really wasn't a bad place to work. She hadn't even needed her CV, the man was only too happy to see a smiling Mrs Hudson.

She said her goodbyes to the other employees who included Mr Chatterjee, Louise the cook and Hannah, another waitress, before knocking on the all too familiar black front door.

With Sherlock mysteriously absent, Meredith and John fell into easy conversation. For Meredith, the air seemed a little lighter without the dark consultant looming over their every word.

"So who is Sherlock's brother then?" Meredith asked out of the blue, making John start in surprise.

"Sherlock's...oh...shit. I am _so _sorry Mer, I forgot to even mention..." He ran a hand over her forehead and through his hair. "Mycroft."

"Mycroft? That's his name? Wow. Their parents had odd taste,"

"Yeah. What did he say to you?"

"Well you know, he was cryptic, dramatic...a lot like Sherlock. I think he wanted me to spy on Sherlock but realised it wasn't going to happen, I didn't really stick around for much else,"

"Well if it's any consolation, he did the same thing to me."

Meredith rolled her eyes with a grin. There was a ring at the front door, followed by Mrs Hudson's footsteps. John stood up and clapped his hands together excitedly. "That'll be Sarah,"

Sarah was great. Meredith knew it straight away. The woman was pretty, sharp as a tac and had a great sense of humour. John seemed highly relieved that Meredith and Sarah got on so well, and Meredith was equally relieved her Uncle hadn't chosen to go out with a complete idiot.

"So I look over, and there is John on the floor, kicking that death trap of a device as Sherlock gets strangled behind me!" Sarah exclaimed, a glass of red wine in one hand and a spatula in the other. "He manages to kick it just at the right angle, so it flew over my shoulder and straight into that smugglers chest,"

"Well that sounds odd, as I recall you couldn't kick a football straight," Meredith said to John, who grimaced.

"Look, I can aim pretty well I'll have you know-"

"Oh really?" Meredith laughed. She noted Sarah's inquisitive expression. "When I was little John used to come round sometimes to visit, so one day we are playing football, and John kicked the football into the goal. Only it didn't go into the goal, it went completely in the opposite direction and hit this guy's windshield. It was funny until the man got out of his car. We ran pretty fast,"

"It wasn't completely in the wrong direction," John chuckled as he made a meagre attempt to defend himself, pouring himself a beer.

"Well I'm glad your aim improved in time to save my life," Sarah smiled, sharing a look with John. Meredith began stirring the pasta bubbling happily in a pan on the stove, averting her eyes from the very obviously loved up couple. It made her heart throb slightly.

The radio hummed quietly in the background, until Mumford and Sons made Meredith drop the wooden spoon she was holding and crank it up. "This is the best song in the world!"

"Oh god, she'd started now," John laughed, ignoring Meredith's mock glare.

"Oh come on guys, you know what happens in the films, the cheesy cooking scene in the kitchen, the music, it's all for the montage!" Meredith beamed, until the pasta started boiling over and they all made a dive to save the stove. John was besides himself with laughter, using the island in the middle of the kitchen to hold himself up as tears formed in his eyes. The laughter continued until the door flew open with a bang, and Sherlock appeared, all stoic and serious.

"Oh hi Sherlock," John said, his voice still strangled slightly from laughter.

"I do believe some of that food may be burning." He said shortly, his voice like a roll of thunder amongst a raging storm. Meredith snorted, which set off the other two, and soon they were all in stitches again. Sherlock looked oddly perplexed, and for a moment Meredith actually believed he looked slightly...hurt? Left out? Or maybe just confused at the three idiots laughing like fools? Either way, he rolled his eyes and proceeded to throw his coat on the floor somewhere.

"You on a case or do you want to eat?" John called out after he was finished laughing.

"If there is anything edible," he replied shortly.

...

Meredith hummed to herself as she washed the dishes. Dinner had been a success, and even though the food had been slightly questionable, the company outweighed it immensely.

"I was under the impression that the chef didn't wash the dishes," Sherlock's deep roll of a voice came out of nowhere. Meredith managed to compose herself before she jumped and sent a few dishes flying.

"Oh well, I didn't want to disturb them," Meredith replied, gesturing towards John and Sarah, who were in a deep conversation, both beaming brightly. "They look happy," She caught Sherlock's eyes for a moment, her stomach suddenly feeling hot from the intensity. Hastily she turned to complete her task.

"Is John aware that you were under extreme stress whilst living with your mother?" Sherlock asked suddenly, his words as sharp as a razor blade. Meredith paused for a minute, her heart literally stopping in her chest.

"I don't want to talk about it,"

"You have a scar on the left side of your neck and just below your collarbone, they look jagged, as if cut by glass,"

"Sherlock-"

"Plus you haven't drank a glass of alcohol your whole life because you have seen what it does and you won't put yourself in the same position, as it is statistically morel likely for the child of an alcoholic to become one themselves,"

"What are you trying to do? Annoy me to death?" Meredith snapped through clenched teeth, grabbing a towel to dry her hands. "Yes, okay, you are right, Mum threw a vodka bottle at me one night, and yes, I don't drink. Is that what you wanted to hear?" She turned to leave the kitchen but found Sherlock was a lot closer to her than she anticipated.

Looking up a t him, she felt the kitchen walls melt away, the living room disappear, and it scared her half to hell. She was so angry at him, the anger seemed to ebb over her like a wave ready to crash to the shore, a red rage that made her want to...well either hit him or kiss him.

"I want to understand," Sherlock said in a low voice.

"Understand what?" Meredith whispered.

Opening his mouth to reply, John suddenly laughed extremely loudly, the sound snapping Meredith out of the little bubble she and Sherlock had created. John's laugh had been extremely fake, and Meredith felt her cheeks flush horribly. She dodged past Sherlock quickly, trying to ignore her uncle's raised eyebrows.

"You two not fighting again are you?" John asked.

"Nope," Meredith shook her head, feeling very...well, hot.

"Right...well, anyway I erm, was going to ask you what you were doing for your birthday this Thursday?"

Meredith had completely forgotten her birthday, in fact she had practically forgotten her name just then. "I er...have no idea," She said honestly, perching at the edge of the desk.

"Well I thought...well, actually, it was Sarah's idea, but hey, we thought we could treat you to dinner, a really fancy place you know?"

"Dull." Sherlock drawled from the kitchen.

"That sounds really good, I love it," Meredith smiled. "And of course, you will have to invite everyone. My friends, your friends, Mrs Hudson. And Sherlock," she glanced over at the consultant with a sweet smile. "Otherwise it just won't be the same,"

John smirked. "What do you say Sherlock?"

The dark haired man just rolled his eyes to heaven.

...

**Somewhere in London...**

She was panting. Every time she thought she had lost them, they appeared behind her. Her eyes were full of tears and fear as she ran.

Hitting a heavy door, she pushed it with all of her strength, meeting a set of stairs. Without hesitation she ran up and up and up.

They were still behind her.

She was going to die.

The stairs led her to a corridor. Her small legs were tiring, so she had no other option. Bursting into a room, she ran towards one of the desks and threw herself to floor.

Curling underneath the desk quickly, she silently prayed.

Footsteps echoed into the room as the door opened. A stream of light flooded the dark floor. She could hear snapping, the sound like a surgeon pulling on a pair of rubber gloves. Her heart pounded, her breath quickened, and a pair of shoes appeared in her vision.

Her scream filled the room, bounced into the halls, and faded into the stairwell.

There was no one near to hear it.

...


	20. Chapter 20

**Thanks for the reviews for my last chapter **** Excuse the filler chapters, I need to build up some story really, plus I want there to be real tension between Meredith and Sherlock (I hope there is some)! **

**So it's quite late and I haven't checked the whole chapter for mistakes, so if there are any, bare with me, I will check them over when I have the chance. **

**Enjoy! xx**

**London, 9:23 pm**

"Oh god oh god...!" He was in complete darkness. There was nothing around him, nothing at all. He could feel the smooth wall beneath his fingers, a damp, mouldy smell filling his nostrils.

Someone's footsteps were behind him, getting louder and louder.

"Please leave me alone!" he cried out in vain, not deterring his pursuer's heavy steps. He started to run blindly, spotting a light. He fell unsteadily into a narrow corridor, white doors on all sides. He smacked his hands on each and every one of them as he ran, desperate for someone to help him. He came to the end and found himself at a set of glass doors, leading to a stairwell. He pushed onto them hastily, but they didn't budge. "No no no!"

He was trapped, slick with sweat, fear taking over every fibre of his being. Turning, a figure emerged into the corridor, snapping on a pair of white rubber gloves.

...

"Ok ladies and gents! My name is Trish, this is Sam," Trish gestured to one of only two males in the room, who was gathering an extreme amount of attention. Trish ignored this. She was muscled lightly and toned all over, her body sculpted to perfection. Much like Sam, who sported light chocolate skin and bright brown eyes, coupled with beautiful muscles and to die for features.

"_Hello_ Sam," Tyler whispered under his breath. Meredith giggled quietly.

"Before we begin; if anyone is chewing any gum, spit it out right now. I won't have people choking. This isn't first aid class, its self defence! And for god's sake, if there is anyone in this class who wants to 'opt out' of a move, they can 'opt out' of my class. There isn't a mugger, a rapist, a lunatic or a hoodie who will 'opt out' when they attack you!" Trish practically bellowed, taking most of the class by surprise.

Annie smiled gleefully at the scandalised looks on most of their faces. "This is gonna be fun!"

"I am beginning to worry slightly," Tyler admitted apprehensively. "Especially when the midget gets excited," His eyes found Annie, who stuck her tongue out at him.

"Right!" Trish bellowed again. The whole class jumped like they'd all been electrocuted. "Let's have at it!"

An hour later, Meredith, Tyler and Annie all excited the class looking rather disgruntled. Meredith held her hand on her hip, groaning slightly, her muscles aching all over. "That was something else,"

"You're telling me! I don't think I have ever been thrown to the floor by a woman in my life!" Tyler exclaimed, sporting a newly formed bruised on his arm.

"I don't think I've ever done that many squats before on my life. I won't be able to sit down for a week," Annie grumbled, rubbing her backside with her hands.

"Thank you guys so much for coming with me," Meredith said. "I think I am going back,"

"You would, you crazy lunatic," Annie replied.

"Well nearly being murdered gave me a new perspective. I may not be able to prevent anything but I will sure damn give them a good fight first!" Meredith punched her arm in the air. Tyler rolled his eyes at her behaviour, all three of them descending the stairs within the college building to reach the exit. "Besides, it will get us fitter,"

"I suppose. I just worry I may break something," Annie pulled up her hood against the cold rush of air as they met the street. "Oh! But hey, who cares? It's your birthday tomorrow and we are going to PARTTTTTTTTY!"

Meredith burst out laughing at her friends scream. A man walking past nearly died of shock, but that didn't seem to bother the tiny girl. "So what are you guys getting me? It better be good,"

Tyler shrugged. "Erm...our dazzlingly personalities?"

"Our wit and charm?" Annie added. Meredith smiled warmly, feeling incredibly lucky to have such brilliant and idiotic friends.

"I think that should do. So, you guys up for a judo class?"

...

Mr Chatterjee was upstairs in his apartment, apparently sorting out the cash flow for the cafe', but Meredith suspected he was having a cup of tea and a snooze. She was busy cleaning tables, dancing around to the radio in her attempt to stem some boredom.

No one had been in Speedy's since about one o'clock. It was now nearly four, and Meredith was on the verge of sneaking out before Mr Chatterjee noticed.

Hence dancing around the tables madly, giving them their third clean of the day. It was only when she looked up and found someone was watching her in amusement that she stopped, her face an extreme shade of magenta. A man stood at the door, his hand on the glass as if he was about to come in, until he saw a mad blond girl bopping around to music.

Meredith stopped abruptly and pushed the door open with a clink. "Hi there, I am sorry if I have put you off...but we are still open," she gestured inside. His dark eyes took her in almost as intensely as Sherlock's did.

"What? Oh no, not at all. I was quite impressed," He flashed her a smile, entering the empty cafe' and glancing around. Meredith frowned. Where had she seen this man before?

"Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee?"

The man turned to her. "To be honest, I only came in here to see you really,"

Meredith flushed, feeling slightly weird. This man had a strange vibe about him, and she wasn't sure whether she liked it or not. "Oh? Right..."

"Sorry, was I too abrupt? I can be like that sometimes, always speaking before I think," He held out his hand. "My name is Jim. And you are?"

She took his hand. "Meredith,"

"Meredith." He said her name slowly, each syllable sliding off his tongue sharply, as if he were cutting her skin with a knife. "It's so very nice to meet you,"

Laughing nervously, Meredith released his hand. "Likewise," Jim either didn't notice her uncertainty or chose to ignore it, because he seemed completely nonplus. He was quite short, maybe slightly taller than her uncle, with dark short hair and even darker eyes to match. "So, erm, can I get you anything?"

"A coffee, would be fine. Black, no sugar." He said, eyes gleaming. She felt them following her as she walked over to the counter. "I haven't really been to this part of London before. It's nice. Do you live around here?"

Meredith grabbed a coffee cup from the side, pressing a button on the machine and letting the dark black liquid fill the cup. "Oh, well, sort of, I live slightly further away, but my Uncle lives next door, he just came back from the army," Though she wondered if she should be divulging personal details, the thought of mentioning the fact her Uncle lived next door _and _was in the army seemed like a sensible thing to do since she was all alone with a strange man.

"Ah, and does your Uncle take kindly to men hitting on his niece?"

Meredith tried not to flush again but she couldn't help it. Something about the way Jim was looking at her made her insides do a horrible little jig. Whilst she was flattered by the attention, she was completely useless when it came to flirting, and this man was making her nervous. "I doubt he'd like it, he's kind of old fashioned like that,"

"Well. I better be careful then, hadn't I?" He winked at her with a sly grin. Taking his coffee, he let a fiver fall from his hand onto the counter between them. "Keep the change Meredith. I am sure I will see you again soon,"

And then he was gone.

Meredith shook her head in bemusement, grabbing her rag and continuing her task of making everywhere sparkle like a dazz commercial.

...

Paradise was a notoriously exclusive restaurant and bar, so how on earth John had managed to get reservations was beyond Meredith. Plus the notion of how expensive the place was concerned her greatly, until John mentioned he'd bagged a massive check from one of Sherlock's cases, in which Meredith had shut up and let him treat her.

After a few hours of Annie battling with her mass of curls, they had managed to pin her hair up into a classy knot, twisting the top parts into delicate plaits and letting a few curls fall around her face. She wore a simple white lace dress, the lace sleeves reaching just below her elbows. The bodycon fit hugged her curves gently, the material finishing a little before her knees. The 6 inch heels on her feet were bright white and though she had a feeling she may fall over at some point during the evening, they made her feel extremely sexy.

She spotted John sitting in one of the corner booths of the restaurant with Sarah and waved like a lunatic. A few other diners watched either in annoyance or amusement as she bustled over excitedly, too wrapped up in the moment to care.

"Hello!" She beamed, giving John a massive hug as he stood up to greet her.

"Wow, you look amazing! Happy Birthday!" he said with a smile.

"All my work," Annie said in all modesty. Meredith chuckled, introducing her Uncle and Sarah to Tyler and Annie.

"John, how on earth did you get a reservation here?" She asked as they all sat down in unison.

"The owner owes Sherlock a favour," He said to her simply, with a light shrug.

"Of course," She scanned the restaurant as a waitress hovered around waiting for Tyler and Annie to decide on cocktails. "Where is Sherlock?" She asked John in the most nonplussed voice she could muster.

"Erm, not a clue, he'll probably show up at some point,"

"I'll have the Long Island Ice tea please," Annie finally decided, pointing at the menu.

"Make it two," Tyler grinned.

"Don't get wasted before dinner guys," Meredith drawled teasingly.

Annie placed her menu back on the table. "Pssh, that's nothing. Wait til we start doing jagerbombs,"

"Forget jagers, it's all about _tequila tequila_!" Tyler roared, doing an extremely hilarious Mexican accent.

"This is what I have to put up with nearly every day," Meredith said to John and Sarah, who were smiling in amusement at the pair of them.

"Mer!"

Meredith looked up to spy Callum making his way through the restaurant. She stood up to greet him and squealed as he lifted her from the ground, spinning her around a few times. "Happy Birthday!"

Her feet tapped the floor as she looked up at him. "Thanks!" She regarded his clean cut suit. "Wow, dapper,"

"Well I couldn't rock up in just anything on your birthday, could I?" He kept his arm around her waist, which Meredith had noticed, and so had John. Her Uncle was already frowning at Callum anyway, and after the conversation last time round, Meredith hoped they would at least try to get on for her sake.

Luckily they seemed to do that.

The evening wore on nicely. Mrs Hudson arrived looking lovely in a purple outfit, and even Lestrade turned up. The only person missing was...well...Sherlock.

Meredith couldn't deny it; she was disappointed. She was actually disappointed that Sherlock Holmes wasn't around. _Jesus I am stupid! _She thought. _As if he was actually going to turn up to a birthday dinner, with all these people. _

"Are you ok Mer?" John asked her, tearing her away from thoughts of Sherlock.

"What? Oh yeah, I'm fine!" She smiled forcefully. "Just gonna use the ladies, be right back!"

Managing to make it to the loo, she found her legs taking her outside of the restaurant, where there were a few tables under glowing amber heat lamps. She perched on a chair and took out her phone. The number she dialled rang out to voicemail.

'_Hey! This is Harriet, leave a message and I will get back to you!' _

"Hey Mum," Meredith said into the phone, her breath flowing from her mouth despite the heat coming from the lamps. "It's me...Meredith. I erm...well it's my birthday today. Yay! Finally turned twenty, not so little any more huh?" She paused for a minute, taking a deep breath. "I know that you're still angry with me for leaving you, and I know it was a sudden move...but Mum, I really love it here. You should meet some of the people I have met...they are brilliant and crazy and...just incredible, and John is _so _happy, you wouldn't even believe it...I know you hate me right now but Mum...I _miss _you...and...I love you, so, _please_ just call. Please?"

She hung up the phone with a shaky sigh, a thick tear falling down both of her cheeks. She wiped them away hastily with a small curse under her breath. She stood up to go back inside when a pair of icy blue eyes met hers like a bolt of lightning.

For a moment Meredith was actually stunned and found it difficult to think about what to say. Not quite believing he was there, she stepped forwards in her ridiculous heels. "You came," She managed in a slightly squeaky voice.

"Yes," Was all he said.

Meredith tried to mock confidence by placing her hand on her hip and raising her eyebrow. "You're late. And you missed the food."

"I don't eat much."

Meredith bit her bottom lip anxiously. Sherlock's eyes found her mouth, and he took a lengthy gaze at her lips, which were rosie pink from her lipstick. He looked back into her eyes quickly.

"Happy birthday," He said like he'd been forced to say it.

"Thanks," Meredith found her eyes widening in surprise slightly. Sherlock pulled something from his coat pocket, an envelope, and held it out for her. She looked at him in alarm. "You got me a card?"

"It is customary for the one celebrating a birthday to receive cards, is it not?"

"Well...yeah..." Meredith took it from and smiled brightly. "Thank you,"

"Besides, it isn't quite a birthday card,"

"What is it?" Meredith asked. "Ah sod it," She sat down on one of the chairs and pulled it open as Sherlock sat opposite, watching her intently. A piece of thick ivory coloured paper slid from the cream envelope, and Meredith read the beautifully swirled silver writing with her heart in her mouth.

_This card holds an invitation to the Pace Art Gallery, London, for our exclusive one night event, where we shall be showcasing some of the world's oldest and rarest pieces of artwork. _

_Viewing: 10__th__ October, 7pm – 10pm _

_Invitation includes a plus one._

"Holy shit," Meredith re-read it a few times to be absolutely sure she had it right. "This is ridiculous...this is like stupidly exclusive...you can't even buy tickets..." She looked at him. "I don't know what to say,"

"You needn't say anything, I am sure the artwork will speak for itself,"

"Hold on, you are going to be my plus one?" Meredith garbled before she could stop herself. "Wait wait, no, there is definitely something more here, is this something to do with a case?"

Sherlock smirked openly. "I have no idea yet,"

"I knew it. Even so, I don't care, because I'm going to the Pace gallery!" She squeaked happily, sliding the invite back into the envelope carefully.

The entrance doors opened abruptly, the hum of the other people in the restaurant louder as the sound barrier was broken. "Mer, what are you doing out here?" Callum asked in bewilderment, before spying Sherlock and frowning. "Oh, you."

Meredith stood up quickly. "I was just getting some air Cal, shall we go back in?"

Callum, however, wasn't paying much attention to her. He was glowering at Sherlock, who had stood up to his full, menacing height. Callum didn't seem to care. "You know, I don't appreciate people telling lies about me, especially when those lies almost ruin my friendship with Meredith,"

"I suggest you go back inside Mr Dwyer, too much lager has a grotesque effect on you," Sherlock drawled impatiently.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Callum spat, his fists bawled up in anger.

"Obviously."

"You think I don't see how you look at her?"

"Callum! Will you please just leave it?" Meredith hissed, taking his arm with her hands to try and pull him back into the restaurant.

"Stay out of this Mer," Callum retorted, pushing her away and making her stumble slightly. Meredith had enough time to see Sherlock's eyes narrow, before he clocked Callum so hard in the jaw the man fell down to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Meredith gasped.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" John exclaimed from the entrance of the restaurant, rushing over to see Callum holding his nose, now pouring with fresh red blood.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Meredith roared at Sherlock. He looked mildly confused, but mostly unaffected.

Callum stood up, the look on his face so livid Meredith was worried he may combust at any given time. "This isn't over you prick," He growled at Sherlock, starting to stagger off.

John stared after him in alarm. "Callum hold on, you need to go to hospital-"

"I'll get there myself!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Moron."

"I can't believe you just did that!" Meredith hissed angrily at the dark haired consultant. She'd gone from missing his presence, to actually starting to see a human side to him, to hating his guts, all in one evening!

"Do not tell me you are actually going to defend that pitiful excuse for a person?"

"How dare you! I know he is a bit of dick at times, but I can handle him, I don't need you getting involved, punching him to the floor whenever you feel like it!"

"I merely put him in his place, something I think should have been done a while ago as you clearly cannot handle him, nor tell him to leave you alone. It's rather pathetic the way you crave his attention,"

"I do _not _crave his attention!"

Sherlock smirked in triumph; his infuriatingly smug look enough to drive her completely mental.

"Guys! Look, will you just give it up? Mer, it's still your birthday, your friends are inside, so maybe you should go in and enjoy yourself?" John interjected quickly, looking completely exasperated. "And don't you say another word," he warned Sherlock, who gave him an 'I have done nothing wrong' look. He turned to Meredith. "I will check on Callum and come back, alright?"

"Fine." Meredith huffed. "But I am still extremely pissed off at you," She pointed at Sherlock before stalking back inside and hoping to god she didn't have an aneurism.

...


	21. Chapter 21

**Firstly, I apologise for ridiculous wait. It's an extremely busy time at the moment, and as you all know, life gets even more hectic around Christmas! So, I did initially write chapter twenty one and post it, but re-read it and flaked out. I seriously lost confidence in myself for a minute and writers block hit me like a wall. HOWEVER, I aim to plough through and get this written. **

**On the plus side, SERIES THREE EPISODE ONE AIRS ON NEW YEARS DAY! Excited just isn't the word right now!**

**Right, onwards and upwards! I hope everyone likes this and let me know what you think! Thanks for being so patient guys! **

**Jess xx**

**Chapter 21**

Meredith took purposeful steps towards Callum's apartment building. She was mad, no, _furious _at him, not only for ruining her birthday, but acting like a complete arse, yet again. Fed up of always being the one sticking up for him, she had decided once and for all to tell him how she felt.

Of course, that was easier said than done. With everything the pair had gone through, guilt washed over her as she pressed the buzzer to enter the tall block of flats. _No! You stay strong Meredith! _She told herself sternly.

"_Yeah?" _Callum's sleepy voice sounded through the little speaker on the wall.

"Hey Cal it's me,"

"_Who's me?" _

"Meredith, you idiot!" She snapped impatiently, wondering how on Earth he could possibly still be in bed at three in the afternoon.

He looked half dead as he opened his apartment door. His nose, now strapped up, still looked pretty painful, and his eyes had deep dark circles beneath them. Meredith narrowed her own tired green eyes at him, ignoring his look of pure misery.

"Didn't you have work today?" Meredith asked him as she paced meaningfully into his place, her eyes snapping up every little detail, from the pristine white walls, to the expensive looking marble topped counters in the kitchen. He was clearly making the money he needed to afford the huge LED TV glaring the news in mute.

He scoffed. "No, _Mom, _I don't,"

"Hey, I don't need the tone." She warned with a pointed finger.

"What do you want Mer? You're clearly pissed at me, so just get it out and let's move on," Callum threw himself down onto his plush white couch and stretched his long legs up onto the coffee table, littered with papers Meredith assumed were from work. A wave of anger welled up inside of her as she heard his words.

"Well that's just the problem isn't it Cal? You are _constantly _doing awful things, and I am always around to forgive and forget,"

"I thought that's what friends did?" Callum argued, his eyes flashing in annoyance.

"You can't expect me to keep on covering for you and defending you, when all you do is mess up! It's tiring Cal, I'm exhausted!" Meredith ran her hand through her long curly hair, her weaker side prompting her to give in and call it a day. She wouldn't let it win. Not this time.

Callum rolled his eyes, not taking her words seriously and smiling. "Oh come on, stop being stupid and give it a rest,"

"No Cal, you're not listening to me," Meredith kept her face straight and serious. "I've had e_nough," _

Callum's face dropped, his eyes immediately becoming hostile. "Is this all because of that freak? Sherlock bloody Holmes?" He spat out Sherlock's name like poison, making her inwardly flinch. Knowing he was trying to get a reaction from her, she remained stoic and still.

"This has nothing to do with him, Cal. This is about you and me."

"What are you saying then Meredith?"

"I'm saying I've had enough of your shit, Callum. I'm saying you need to stop expecting everyone else to sort you out and get on with your life! We aren't little kids anymore, we are adults now with lives to lead, and all you seem to do is arse around and prove to everyone that you are a complete mess! It's time to grow up, Cal!"

The silence that followed her words was deafening.

Callum let an icy laugh filter through his lips. "Who was there for you Meredith, when your life went to shit, huh?" He stood up, his tone slightly menacing, his eyes firing up threateningly.

"Callum don't-"

"Who was there when your own mother _attacked_ you? When she drank so much she nearly choked on her own vomit and _died_?"

"Cal-"

"I'm the one who got you through the times when you couldn't go home, when you had no one else to turn to, when shit really hit the fan!"

Meredith stared at him, her bottom lip threatening to tremble as he continued his assault.

"You've clung on to me ever since the night we slept together. You think I'm the one who needs _you_? You are a joke!"

Believing he had won the argument, Callum backed away from Meredith, a look of triumph in his eyes. There was another tense silence. The quiet gave Meredith time to let his words really sink in; to let them hit her heart and burn. She refused the tears that threatened to form in her eyes, her disappointment in him almost too much to bear. Was this really the Callum who had done all he said for her? Or had he, from day one, used her vulnerable state to manipulate her into liking him? She had been wearing rose tinted glasses for too long.

"Maybe you're right Cal, which is exactly why we need to end this," Meredith let the small bag of his random belongings he'd left at her flat hit the floor besides her.

Callum wasn't looking at her anymore, rather the illuminating view of London which stretched out ahead of them through the enormous glass window. She sighed quietly. "I want you to stay out of my life, Cal. Stay away from me, from John, from anyone I know. I think it will be for the best," She turned to leave.

"He won't say it you know,"

Meredith froze.

"_Sherlock Holmes_. He won't tell you he's in love with you. He'll keep putting you in danger, putting John in danger..." Callum was facing her back now, but she couldn't face turning to look at him. "...and one day, you will end up paying the price,"

Meredith let a small tear fall down her cheek. "Goodbye Cal."

...

Meredith let the condensation pour from her mouth as she stood staring up at the large building that was the Pace gallery. Her mouth hung open a little as the pearly white walls were illuminated by icy blue lights, the stairs leading up to the large doorway full of glamorously dressed people chattering away into the night air.

Her invitation held in a vice like grip between her numb fingers, she proceeded up the stairs as confidently as she could. Thin black heels clicked over the white stone as she reached the doors, a large man in a grey suit staring down at her with no emotion in his face.

"Invitation," He grumbled in a low voice.

"Oh erm yeah here," Meredith smiled nervously as he checked her invite. "Cold tonight," She added.

"Extremely. Can I check ya bag love?"

"Sure," Meredith opened up her small clutch, before hearing a rather familiar voice behind her. She turned, looking down the steps and seeing Sherlock in particularly heated argument with some random guy. The security guard checking her bag took notice to the dark haired consultant, who by now was doing his 'I will analyse your whole life' trick to the poor unsuspecting man.

"You know that guy?" The bouncer asked with his eyebrows raised.

Meredith shook her head. "Nope. Haven't the faintest idea who he is."

Once inside, Meredith handed her coat to the clerk in the cloak room and made her way into the main gallery, immediately noticing that the artist had a very deep love of the colour red.

Every single painting in the room used a deep, blood red colour. The drawings were mostly very macabre, skulls and corpses...even strange looking demons. Not really to Meredith's taste but they were painted very well.

She was staring at a canvas with a grave stone illustrated slightly to the left. A long haired woman knelt besides it, her arms limp at her sides. The really disturbing part was the woman looked happy. She had a twisted smile on face, sort of like the way Donna had smiled at Meredith as she held the gun to her head...

"Sort of strange, aren't they?"

Meredith jumped. She whirled around and found a pair of dark eyes staring back. "Jim?" She blurted.

"Sorry, I scared you didn't I?" He grinned, though the grin didn't quite reach his eyes. "I just didn't expect to see you here,"

"I erm, got an invite for my birthday, I wouldn't be here otherwise,"

"Ah, so who is the lucky fellow then? I am assuming you are on a date?" This Jim guy was extremely forward. Meredith wasn't sure if she liked him, there was still something so off about the way he looked a her. That and the fact he had not only randomly turned up to her workplace the other day, but now he was here. Was it a coincidence?

Hearing the word 'date' made her thoughts come to a full stop. She felt a blush creeping over her face. The thought of this being a date hadn't even occurred to her! Had Sherlock actually asked her to the gallery for a date?

"No no, not a date, just...mutual acquaintances," Meredith managed. "It's a long story really,"

A man in a tux suddenly appeared besides them with a tray full of golden bubbles. "Champagne?"

Meredith had already shaken her head before Jim took two glasses and handed one to her. Feeling extremely put on the spot, she took the glass quickly. Jim just shrugged.

"You only live once, am I right?"

She smiled sheepishly, gazing at the alcohol in her hand and rapidly thinking of a way to be rid of it. Jim seemed to have spotted something from afar, for he drained the champagne in one quick swig. Meredith's eyes widened as he took her hand and kissed the back of it lengthily. "It was nice to see you again Meredith, we should bump into each other again sometime. Third time lucky,"

The glass in Meredith's hand very nearly slipped from her fingers. Jim seemed to liquidise into the crowd as she tried to keep her heart from stopping, the look of pure madness in his eyes stamped behind her own. The dark blue dress she wore suddenly felt too tight and clingy, her heels too high and uncomfortable.

She thought back to the night Donna had almost killed her...

_"Would that name, perhaps...be Moriarty?"_

_The woman's eyes grew wide, and she visibly started shaking. "Who...who told you that?"_

_Sherlock's eyes flashed. "So it is Moriarty. Interesting." _

...was this Jim something to do with Moriarty?

Meredith hadn't a clue what or who this Moriarty character was. The fact she had survived almost being murdered had overshadowed anything else, so any thought on Moriarty had been forgotten. Until now, of course.

"...redith...Meredith. Meredith!"

Meredith blinked, finding Sherlock standing in front of her with what could only be his equivalent of concern etched into his sharp features. "Are you all right?" he said to her in his rumble of a voice. The sense of panic that had risen in her chest seemed to calm, as if his presence had soothed it. She felt...safe.

"I just...met this man and I think he's something to do with Moriarty,"

"Who?" Sherlock demanded.

"He just left, I don't know where he went!" She cried, grabbing his arm as he circled around like a crazy loon. "There's no point now, there's too many people here,"

"Well this evening has been utterly tedious," He grumbled.

"Why? And who were you arguing with outside?"

"It hardly matters, I may have commented on the fact he was married with three children,"

Meredith looked at him questioningly.

Sherlock sighed dramatically. "In front of his girlfriend,"

Meredith didn't know whether it was nerves, or because Sherlock's proximity made her feel giddy, but laughter erupted from her throat before she could stop it. Sherlock stared down at her stoically, but she did see his mouth twitch, which only made her laugh more.

"I can see why you like the artwork here," She said once she had recovered, the flutters in her chest never ceasing.

"And why is that?" Sherlock responded.

"Well it screams death and mystery. You do love a good death,"

"A good murder. Death can be natural, in other words boring."

"So what would you prefer? To die naturally or go out with a bang?" Meredith placed her champagne glass on a tray as a waiter waltzed past.

Sherlock's eyes grew darker. "I don't think there is a choice,"

"But if you had a choice?"

"I would choice neither. I don't consider death an option,"

"You can't avoid death, Sherlock," Meredith was itching to touch him, her hands were twitching as she felt her whole body heating up. A warmth curled it's way below her waist, something she hadn't felt in a long time, as the people around the room became vague and shadowed.

"I can try," He murmured, his hand stretching out. His fingers barely touched the curve of her cheek, the sensation sending her into overdrive...

"LADIES AND GENTLEMAN!"

The loud voice startled not just Meredith but Sherlock as well. He withdrew his hand quickly, as if he had been electrocuted, and just stared at her with his eyes slightly wider than usual. She stared right back, her face so hot she felt as if she were on fire.

The loud intruding voice belonged to an older man who spoke in good grace, thanking the guests for coming to the event and introducing the artist. The artist himself was a tall, lean man in his mid thirties, with slicked back dark hair and almost vacant but intelligent eyes. He seemed to be watching but not paying much attention, choosing not to make a speech as the older gentleman finished.

Meredith, who by now had managed to tear her gaze away from Sherlock, listened with forced rapture, her pulse still racing. There was no denying it any more, her feelings for Sherlock were not platonic in the slightest. How she had managed to let him crawl under her skin, she didn't know.

Damn Sherlock.

"Greyson Hunter and Charles Right." Sherlock said out loud. The older man, who's name was Charles Right, seemed to be trying to get the Artist, Greyson Hunter, to make conversation and was failing rather miserably. Meredith looked at Sherlock once again, a million questions buzzing inside her head as usual.

"What about them?"

"One of them is a murderer," He grinned. "Three murders, to be exact,"

"Oh I bloody knew it," Meredith huffed, folding her arms. "You are unbelievable."

"We have to speak to them, get as much information as we can. The only way to break them is to find a weakness," Sherlock mused happily.

Meredith rolled her eyes. "And how are we going to do that?"

"Not we. You,"

"What?!"

…


	22. Chapter 22

**I'm quite at a loss now that the new series of Sherlock has finished. (Don't worry there are no spoilers here!) My mind has been blown. Officially.**

**I hope everyone had a great Christmas and Happy New year! Mine was brilliant, though I ate and drank wayyy too much haha! Thank you to everyone for still reading this and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint, and as always feel free to let me know what you think :) Thanks! xx  
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For the second time Meredith found herself in Bart's morgue, looking down at the body of a young girl, probably around her age, skin as white as a sheet of A4. There was a long, large incision running along her sternum, between her breasts and finishing near her belly button. Her organs had been pulled from her body, the hollowness of her body a rather disturbing image.

Feeling extremely queasy as Sherlock had lifted the white sheet to uncover the body, Meredith turned away and covered her mouth. "That's sick."

"There are two more bodies just like it," Molly said as she entered with John.

"Oh brilliant," He remarked, turning to Meredith. "How was the gallery?"

"Much like this," Meredith gestured towards the body without looking. "Amongst rare classics there was a display of really gross paintings,"

John grimaced. "So erm, have we found ourselves a Hannibal?"

"Possibly." Sherlock murmured, eyes raking in every detail of the dead girl in front of him.

"How old was she?" Meredith asked.

"22," Molly replied. "Her name was Hannah Barret,"

"Who would do something like this?" She said in disgust, still refusing to look. The sight was already imprinted in her mind and she knew it would keep her awake at night.

"The blade used to cut her was jagged, like a bread knife. They haven't done it neatly, which suggests the victim was still alive when they started," Sherlock said. "There are signs the victim used her fingernails to try and defend herself with the way they are jagged at the edges but there is no flesh or blood beneath them."

"You mean she was still alive when she was cut open?" Meredith blurted, earning a sharp look from Sherlock.

"Obviously."

"Right,"

"You look green Mer, do you need to leave?" John asked in concern.

"No, I managed it last time I can do it again now,"

"Her brain has been removed too," Sherlock drawled. Most of the colour in Meredith's face drained completely.

"How...?" John uttered, his morbid curiosity getting the better of him.

"Like the Egyptians, Embalming, they used a rod to break up the brain and drain it through the nose to keep the skull intact,"

Meredith's mouth had yet to close. "So they are taking organs from their victims, including the brain, but they are considerate when it comes to keeping their skulls intact?"

"Must be part of the show,"

"The show?"

"Yes, of course the show. Whoever did this has done a very good job at hiding any evidence. They wanted the bodies to be found. They are showing us something,"

"And you think one of those men from the Pace gallery is doing this to people? How?"

"A hunch."

"A hunch!?"

There was a loud cough. "Erm, if you two have finished, there are other people in the room," John pointed to himself and Molly. Meredith, who hadn't realised how close she'd gotten to Sherlock, took a step back, her cheeks flaming horribly.

"All of his blood is gone too," Mollly's small voice said, gaining Sherlock's attention.

"What?"

"His blood...it's all gone,"

"Like a vampire," Meredith added, earning a scathing look from Sherlock.

"Yes, thank you Stephanie Meyer,"

"You've read Twilight?"

"No. I just know of it," The dark haired detective shook his head. Meredith grinned ear to ear, her eyes alight with mischief.

"You have! This is great,"

"I have not read Twilight!" He demanded.

"Back to the dead person in front of us!" John snapped, looking as put out as Molly. "How on earth do you have a hunch this is anything to do with the men at the Pace gallery?"

"I researched the Pace gallery's latest visitor history. All three of the victims visited the gallery a mere few hours before they were murdered," Sherlock answered.

"You researched the gallery's visitor history?"

"Admittedly I hacked into the website but it was worth it, the gallery keeps a very tight record on who visits, some of the paintings they display are worth millions so they can't afford to let any Tom Dick or Harry in."

"But that doesn't mean either of those men murdered them," Meredith said.

"No, but you saw the paintings on the walls, either the artist or the curator has a fetish for macabre, the sort who would relish in cutting open a human being,"

"Right."

Sherlock's phone began ringing in his pocket. "Lestrade?"

…

"Some local kids found her, said they thought it was fake until they got closer," Lestrade led Meredith, John and Sherlock through a series of anxious looking police. The body had been found in a small public library, on the second floor. A trail of blood led them up the stairs, the sight giving Meredith the chills.

"How old is the victim?" Sherlock asked.

"She's twenty one. Her birthday was next week," Lestrade frowned. "Poor girl had barely lived. Her name was Annie Granger,"

"Wait a second, who in the hell is...this?" A rather nasally voice came from the left of Meredith, who suddenly went silent as he stared at her with his mouth slightly ajar. He looked much like a rodent, with slicked back, dark greasy hair and a large nose. She felt slightly uncomfortable by the way he was ogling at her and shifted on her feet.

She felt a hand on her lower back. "If you have quite finished drooling like a dog Anderson, we would like to see the body," Sherlock almost growled, pushing Meredith away from Anderson's prying eyes. His flat palm on her back surprised her but she remained as poised as possible, ignoring the fluttering sensations in her stomach. The thought of being under Sherlock's protection made her feel very giddy, like no one could get to her as long as he was around.

"All major organs removed, and her blood has been drained," Lestrade announced, giving Meredith and Sherlock a strange look.

"Just like the others," Sherlock murmured, crouching down to look at the dead girl.

"So what do we think?" Lestrade asked.

"I think we need a plan,"

"A plan? For what?" The man Sherlock had referred to as 'Anderson' exclaimed as he sidled closer to Meredith, who was tempted to kick him in the shin. She didn't like to make judgements before she knew someone, but this Anderson just came across as a slimy git.

"To catch the killer, what do you think?" Lestrade answered, before Sherlock could respond.

"So who are you then? Is Sherlock getting bored of Watson?" Anderson asked Meredith, quite rudely.

"Actually I'm John's niece. And no, I don't think he is getting bored of him, which is quite the contradiction considering I am already extremely bored of you," She snapped up at him icily, feeling immensely satisfied when he flushed a deep red.

Sherlock snorted over his scrutiny of the dead body, which was quite inappropriate, but Meredith smiled to herself all the same. Her eyes followed Sherlock's elegant movements like a hawk, not realising for quite a while that Lestrade was still looking from her to Sherlock funnily. She instantly tore her gaze to the poor young girl at the centre of a very strange and gruesome murdering spree, still none the wiser to why this was being done.

"Whoever has done this has been very precise, they have made the wounds identical to all the other victim's," John said as he inspected the body himself. "She's been dead around six hours. Put up a fight as well, her fingernails are broken, like she clawed at her attacker, plus the blood on the stairs confirms she was wounded before her killer cut her open."

"That doesn't make sense. She has no other wounds," Sherlock said.

"So it wasn't her blood then?" Meredith said.

The dark haired detective flashed her a look of approval. "We have a mistake,"

"But...why would this killer make a mistake like that?"

"No idea. We need the samples tested-"

"Already done. The blood belongs to a Charles Right, he's a curator at the Pace Gallery, ring any bells?" Lestrade announced as he hung up his phone, looking as confused as ever.

"Yes," Sherlock clapped his hands together.

"Well we'll have to get him in then,"

"Be sure to do that!"

…

The little café near the Pace Gallery was quite busy, there were quite a few men and women in suits, taking breaks, sipping coffee or typing furiously at overworked laptops. A few women sat around gossiping over lattes, their shopping bags laden under tables and hung over chairs. The atmosphere was pretty normal, but Meredith felt quite nervous all the same.

"_Be yourself," Sherlock said to her. "If you feel nervous then use the nerves to drive you and always stay focused,"_

"_But if you feel at any point unsafe or in danger you get out," John said very seriously._

"_You are likely to feel that you are in danger but remember to keep talking for as long as you can,"_

"_Don't let him touch you,"_

"_No, but you have to establish a connection otherwise he won't believe it,"_

"_But still, no touching,"_

"_Will you two hush? I feel nauseous already!" _

She sort of smiled at the memory. Sherlock giving her instructions on how to flirt and John giving her adamant instructions on how not to. Her Uncle wasn't exactly happy with Meredith getting involved in a case, but then, she had sort of insisted. She wasn't a baby and she knew how to defend herself, plus she trusted Sherlock to get her out of trouble if the time came.

She purchased a white mocha, her eyes falling on him; Greyson Hunter, the artist. He was sitting alone, sipping at his coffee and reading a book. Taking a deep breath, Meredith paced over.

"Excuse me?" Meredith asked. The man, who had very striking eyes, snapped up to her and she almost felt like bolting right then and there. "I ermm...it's only that, you are Greyson Hunter?"

"Yes," He responded, looking about as bored as Sherlock did without a case.

"It's just, I am a big fan you see and well, I'm studying art at college right now and I wondered if I could ask you some questions?"

"Did you now? Sit." He gestured to the chair opposite.

Meredith panicked internally. She had half expected him to tell her to do one. "Right, yes," She sat down quickly.

"You seem nervous," Greyson smirked slightly, eyes drinking her in. "Don't be."

"I am fond of your style,"

"You don't look as if you would care for my sort of work,"

"Oh well, I have always been fascinated with all things macabre, you know, the dark and twisted stuff," Meredith tried not to wring her hands under the table.

"Indeed, Miss...?"

"Laura, I'm Laura Summers," She smiled politely, taking his offered hand and shaking it as firmly as she could. Just touching this man sent creepy chills down her spine and she tried not to think about the reason she was talking to him in the first place. Images of those poor dead people flashed behind her eyes, making her all the more determined to get the killer behind bars. "I'm really very curious about your work, since my parents died and I moved to London, I haven't found anything so diverting, you know what I mean?"

Greyson's thick eyebrows raised into his forehead. "You live here on your own?"

"Yes, no family unfortunately,"

"Well...that is...unfortunate," He leaned towards her, getting closer the more they spoke. "I am sorry to hear it,"

Meredith sighed for emphasis. "Thank you. Do you mind if I start asking you some questions?"

The artist sat back against his chair, his eyes penetrating her and making her feel like squirming. "Not here, it's too noisy. I have a better place,"

…

Agreeing to meet this man at half six in an empty office building may have seem ludicrous to Meredith, but as she was playing Laura Summers, the naïve orphan. So it was completely legit.

This was how he did it then; he exploited young people who were vulnerable. It may have taken longer with the others, he possibly had to groom them more, get them to trust him. He was clearly getting desperate, asking her outright like that, and more prone to making a mistake.

She entered the building easily. There was no security (and if there had been they weren't there now), it was dimly lit, and the air was frigid. Her shoes tapped over the granite flooring, shining as if just cleaned that day. A desk sat empty in the centre of the lobby, a couple of lifts behind it and a stairwell to the right.

_Remember, keep calm and focus._

Sherlock's voice rang deep in her mind. "Hello? Are you here Mr Hunter?"

"Hello Laura," Mr Hunter said as he entered the lobby. Meredith spun on the spot, staring at him with wide eyes as he approached slowly in a black suit and coat. "As much as I love dramatics, I really do just want to get his done, it has to be done you see,"

"What? What needs to be done?" She asked, her heart racing and throat cramping up.

"My art work, you see, I need to complete a painting but...I need more,"

"I don't understand-"

"Blood. I need more of it, my paintings need more,"

"But...sorry, I just wanted to ask you questions, that's all," She backed away as he got closer. "You're scaring me,"

"Good, it's good to be scared...all that adrenaline pumping in your veins..." He slowly drew out long, jagged knife from his coat. Meredith finally realised how dangerous this situation was. Greyson was going to kill her.

He looked into her eyes and smirked. "Now do what all the others did. And run."

...


	23. Chapter 23

**Hey! Thank you to everyone who reviewed my last chapter, it is always brilliant to get such great feedback, and you are all amazing! I always feel so nervous when posting a new chapter because I want to please everybody, I know I can't but I really endeavour to try! **

**Please excuse any minor errors, I have proof read the chapter, but I've been at my laptop all day what with writing this and doing college assignments, so please bare with me (I think my eyes have gone square!) **

**Again, thanks for the reviews and as always, enjoy the chapter and feel fre to let me know what y'all think! Jess xxx **

Meredith felt the sharp tug of adrenaline. Pulsing from the base of her spine, the muscles in her body twitched, the chemical racing it's way through her body and tingling every fibre. The feeling, she assumed, was like a drug. The effects waning every time you used it, until it was no longer plausible, until you had to take more than was necessary, until you were completely enshrouded by it.

Just being around Sherlock Holmes could do that to a person. Much like a drug, he was pulling her in and he wasn't letting go. It wasn't entirely his fault either. She wasn't exactly saying no.

The feeling couldn't be helped, either. Meredith had been born with her heart on her sleeve, yet never considered it a weakness. Her honestly provided her with the maybe naïve positive notion that good was inside everybody, no matter the cost. She strived to make the world better, instead of ride it out and hope for the best.

Did opposites attract in reality? Would Sherlock ever really be interested, and was she really interested? She couldn't understand why he, of everyone she had ever met, would make her feel like a lovesick school girl. Sherlock, the man who she argued with nine times out of ten, the high functioning sociopath who gave little thought to anyone around him. Yet would she really like him if he wasn't everything that he was?

Self doubt aside, Meredith felt the reality of her situation testing her. Greyson was a cold blooded killer. He'd hacked people open, pulled out their guts and drained their blood. On top of that, he'd used their blood to paint. Actual human blood.

OK, so maybe there was no good in this man. Heart on her sleeve or not, Meredith wasn't going to be foolish enough to think this man could hold any redemption. His eyes looked dead, as if someone had reached into his mouth and pulled out his soul, leaving nothing but a cold empty shell. He was still smiling too; his thin lips in a constant look of icy amusement. His handsome features did nothing but cause her to shiver even more. Why would someone seek to do this? To hurt and kill other human beings like they were nothing but sport, a fox in a hunt?

"Now do what all the others did. And Run."

Meredith heard his words, though they sounded quite far away. She grasped at the stairwell doors, not too sure how she got there, and plunged through them quickly. "So predictable!" Greyson roared behind her. He was obviously impatient and that made him all the more dangerous. Meredith ran up the stairs as quickly as she could, the second floor feeling too far away. She could hear him pounding after her, his legs longer than hers. She glanced down to see him taking two steps at a time and felt a little sick.

Her mistake came as she tripped over one of the steps. She fell forwards and caught both her shins, crying out in pain. Scrambling to get back up, a large hand wrapped tightly around her ankle and pulled her back down with a thump.

Meredith shrieked as he yanked her down the steps, her fingers clawing at them to avoid being pulled beneath him.

Still below her on the steps, her squirming seemed to be deeming his task impossible and he let out a string of curses that may have been humorous in any other situation.

"Just give up little girl!" The artist growled, clearly itching to cut her open, his strength surprising her considering he was so lithe.

"Get off of me!" She cried, managing to turn herself on her back. With all the strength she could muster, she kicked out at his face, clocking him straight in the nose. His grip slackened as he groaned in pain, giving her enough time to shimmy from his grip and pull herself up again. The urge to run fast came upon her and she did just that; racing up another flight so fast she started to feel dizzy. A loud thudding sound alarmed her immensely, until she realised it was just her head pounding as she panted from her exertion. _If I get out of this, I am definitely going to the gym! _She thought, throwing herself through the set of doors that led into the third floor lobby.

A reception desk sat cold and empty, someone's mug left on the side. As she ran past she felt herself grow unsteady and accidentally caught it with her arm, barely noticing as it crashed to the ground and split into a million pieces. Greyson was still clearly behind her, so she ran into a narrow corridor.

Meredith nearly let out a shriek when she collided with a solid form. Looking up in alarm, she met Sherlock's eyes and her whole body flooded with relief. She barely registered her arms practically around his neck from the force of which she had collided with him, nor the way he hadn't let her go yet. It wasn't normal for Sherlock to touch another human being for longer than necessary. She knew this. So why was he looking at her like she was an alien and painfully familiar at the same time?

The moment ended as they heard footsteps, alerting Meredith to the fact she was still being chased by a maniac. Sherlock let her go so suddenly she practically fell, his eyes turning back to stone like a switch was inside his brain. He signalled for her to step behind him and she did, ignoring her urge to press up against his back in an attempt to hide from the serial killer.

Greyson froze upon seeing Sherlock, his eyes flitting from him to Meredith. He shook his head, a smile forming in his cruel lips. "Of course, how stupid of me. I should have been smarter than this."

"Yes, you really should have," Sherlock responded. "Trying to frame your...'partner in crime' shall we say, really did give you away."

"How?"

"Charles Right was taken into custody and after a thorough once over, the police were clever enough to notice he had no wounds, nothing that would cause him to bleed out so heavily. Surely you knew it was only a matter of time before even they figured that out?"

Greyson sighed. "Yes, of course. But it wouldn't have mattered. I was nearly finished,"

"Finished?" Sherlock inquired.

"Surely you know? Maybe not. It doesn't matter to you, to anyone." He eyed his knife for a moment. "Only to me,"

"Why have you been collecting organs?" Sherlock demanded.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I want to know,"

Meredith stared between Sherlock and Greyson. This wasn't part of the plan, Sherlock was supposed to have signalled Lestrade to surround Greyson with police and give him no escape by now. What was the hold up? "Sherlock..." She murmured, but neither man seemed to hear her. Sherlock was starting to scare her slightly, the look on his face haunting. His urge to know why and the way Greyson had chosen to not play along had clearly gotten to him.

"It must bother you, not knowing," Greyson smirked. "I'm glad. My reasons are my own. They were mine all along, before that curator got involved. He ruined it,"

"What do you need to finish?" Sherlock practically growled, his body rigid with tension. Greyson just laughed at him, obviously amused. The dark haired detective made a lunge for him, knocking the knife from his hands and shoving the slightly shorter man against the wall by the scruff of his shirt.

"I am not telling," Greyson hissed, still smiling. Meredith saw him slowly reaching for something inside of his belt. Something gleamed at her, a reflection from a light in the opposite building, and she realised what he was doing. Blind panic filled her vision, the long thin knife now in plain sight.

"SHERLOCK!" Meredith screamed. Sherlock jerked backwards almost immediately, narrowly missing a slice to the gut.

Greyson went for Sherlock again, his hand locked around the handle of the knife. Sherlock grabbed his wrist before it could break the skin of his neck, his back now against the wall as he tried to push the blade away. Meredith didn't know what to do; she was frozen. What had been the point of all those self defence classes, if she couldn't so anything to help? _Ah shit! _She did the only thing she could think of. With a huge leap she jumped onto Greyson's back, startling the man completely and overbalancing him. He staggered back from Sherlock and both he and Meredith fell backwards into the adjacent wall. She groaned, the wind completely knocked out of her again as his weight crushed her into what was a very solid wall.

Greyson pushed his weight away from her, eyes alight with fury. Suddenly there was a loud bang from the end of the corridor. A stream of police filtered into the corridor, Lestrade and Donovan in tow. The murderer could do little else than let the knife fall from his grip, the shiny piece of metal falling to the ground with a clatter.

"Took your time," Lestrade commented to Sherlock, who merely shrugged. Meredith remained stuck to the wall as they cuffed Greyson, her head swimming from her collision. She must've hit her head too, she felt cloudy.

"That was fun." She managed, though her voice was shaky and her eyes felt slightly watery.

"Are you all right?" Sherlock asked her. She looked up at him, still against the wall, her hands shaking.

"Think so,"

"What you erm..." He cleared his throat. "When you jumped him...it was very useful,"

Meredith meant to let out a shaky giggle but it just came out breathy. Sherlock's attempts at a 'thank you' were pretty hilarious. "Useful?"

"Good then, it was well...good,"

She gave him the strongest smile she could muster. "Good is better than useful, I think that'll do," Proximity was a really strange thing. Most of the time, Meredith liked a decent proximity between her and other people, that was pretty much the norm. When it came to family, her Uncle, for instance. He could be quite close to her, and the proximity wouldn't really bother her, she didn't really mind. Complete strangers made her freak out a bit, and when it came to her sister, well, she needed to stay well away.

Sherlock, on the other hand, was different. It wasn't often that he got very close to anyone. She had noticed he usually strayed away from touching people, always wearing gloves so he didn't have to make direct contact. His beautiful eyes were so intelligent sometimes it was painful to look into them, especially this close. Meredith felt almost cross eyed, her eyes bugging out as they widened considerably. He had a brown dot in one of his iris's. How had she not noticed that before? No wonder she could never draw him accurately, she had gotten his eyes completely wrong!

"I have calculated nearly eight possible ways to do this, the first two are either I let you know or I surprise you, considering everything I have concluded about you it is definitely a 50/50 gamble, though in some ways you are quite obviously romantic," Sherlock's words meant absolutely diddly squat. She stared up at him, her lips parted slightly.

"ahm...what?" her words coming out breathy and weak.

"Surprise it is then," Sherlock's voice was dangerously low, even deeper than normal. A thought occurred in her brain, somewhere near the back of her skull, but whatever it was hardly mattered. She thought her eyes may pop out of her skull as she felt his lips meet with hers, the sensation making her eyelids quiver and close on their own accord.

Her hands were pressed firmly against the wall, the shock too much for her to even move. He was slowly caressing her lips with his own as if he was figuring her out, and she was getting lost in the overwhelming feeling. One of his hands rested on her face, his thumb making gentle circles under her jawline, the other resting on the wall just besides her head. She tentatively began to kiss him back, and the desire to touch his hair, to run her fingers through it, became unbearable. Her small fingers found the sharp curve of his cheek, the soft curls of his hair, and the kiss became less gentle...

"Jesus Christ!"

Meredith jumped. She couldn't move more than an inch as Sherlock had successfully pinned her against the wall. Managing to turn her head, she saw Lestrade standing in the corridor, his mouth hanging open comically.

Feeling like someone had just thrown a bucket of icy cold water all over her, Meredith gave Sherlock a push on his chest with her hands. He stepped back graciously, though he was staring down at her and hadn't looked at Lestrade once. Cheeks flaming horribly, she started walking towards the baffled cop who's mouth still hung open.

"Is...is John here?" She asked, trying to act as normally as possible.

Lestrade blinked a couple times before he cleared his throat, looking just as uncomfortable as her. "Yeah he's downstairs...he was asking for you and since you hadn't shown up yet..."

"Oh great! OK, I'm going to see him!" Meredith chimed loudly. She made to retreat, but suddenly felt the world shifting horribly. The floor began plummeting towards her face and the last thing she saw was Lestrade rushing to catch her.

…

Someone draped a cold cloth over her forehead. The beautifully cold feeling stirred her into consciousness, the hazy state of her mind shifting slightly as she tried to work out where she was. Her eyelids were still closed, her hand flopping to the cloth on her head to keep it in place.

"What happened?" She grumbled, her throat feeling like sandpaper.

"You fainted, it's OK, we're at Baker Street," John replied.

Her eyes still closed, she gave a small groan. "I never faint. That's stupid damsel in distress crap,"

She heard John chuckle. "Well you did hit your head. And I am tempted to stick you in a tower, might keep you out of bloody danger,"

Meredith smiled slightly, forcing her eyes open. "I could say the same," She was lying on her back, stretched out on the sofa in the front room. The fire blazed to her right and from what she could tell, Sherlock wasn't there.

John's smile faded slightly, and then bam. The memories flooded back. Meredith felt herself running out of air, her heart beating rapidly and she flushed. Sherlock had kissed her. Actually kissed her and she had kissed him back.

Shit.

Double shit.

Lestrade had seen as well. What if he'd told John? What if John knew?

"Mer, are you ok? You've gone red," Her Uncle placed his hand on hers.

"Oh yeah...I'm fine,"

"Because you know, Greg said-"

"What? What did he say?" She interrupted quickly. John frowned at her slightly, taking off the cold cloth and putting his hand on her forehead.

"He just said you looked really peaky before you fainted. How do you feel Mer? You are acting really strangely,"

Meredith breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm ok, just tired I guess."

"Yeah...well um, you should probably get some rest,"

"What happened? Did erm, did Sherlock find out why Greyson was killing those people?"

John placed the cloth back to her forehead, looking lost in thought. "No...not he didn't. I guess well...I guess we'll never really know for sure,"

Meredith sighed, letting out a puff of air in annoyance. "God damn serial killers. They do all that killing and then have no explanation, s'jus plain rude," She yawned. She faintly heard John chuckling again. Her mind was so overwhelmed she could do little other than fall into a sleep full of danger and Sherlock's kiss.

**...**


	24. Chapter 24

**Hello! So next chapter is up, sorry about the gap. I'd just like to say thanks for the follows and reviews, I need them to survive haha! Let me know what you think and enjoy! Xx **

Meredith stood under the extremely hot fountain of water flowing through the shower head, her eyes closed as she let the water spill over her hair and over her aching body. Random dots of bruises were scattered over her neck, stomach, thighs and shins. Working with Sherlock had it prices and no doubt he had a few bruises too.

She ran her fingertips over her lips, warm from the heat, still tingling from the kiss that should never have happened. It was impossible for her lips to still be tingling, she knew this, but it still gave her shuddering chills down her spine thinking about it.

Sherlock had _kissed _her.

What had even made him do it in the first place? Sure, she hadn't exactly pushed him away, but he'd initiated it, he'd even said he thought about how to go about it eight different times! Had Meredith been completely wrong in thinking he had no feelings towards her?

Stepping out of the shower after a vigorous scrub, she wrapped her towel around herself and wiped the condensation from the mirror with her fingers, getting a good look at the dark circles beneath her eyes. She really needed to get some beauty sleep. What with spending most of the night tossing and turning, before giving up at around 3am and sketching until sunrise. She'd then watched ridiculous TV for a couple of hours, her head numbing to the point she could finally get up and shower.

The door suddenly opened. Meredith gasped lightly and grabbed the front of her towel. "What are you doing?"  
>Sherlock took all but three seconds to look her up and down. "I need to use the bathroom,"<p>

Meredith blinked at him. "You couldn't have waited?"

"Not really," He replied.

"Hold on, did you come in here just to catch me in a towel?"

"I wouldn't flatter yourself,"

"You did, didn't you?" Meredith pointed her finger at him accusingly. "Don't bother denying it,"

"I need the bathroom, leave," He said lowly, using his hand to gesture to the doorway.

"No." Meredith said stubbornly. "Stop perving on me and get out,"

"Please. There are many things I would consider attractive and you hold none of them," Sherlock drawled, now using his hand to gesture up and down her body.

Meredith let out a small laugh of disbelief. "Excuse me? You wouldn't know what to do with this if you had it. Plus don't give me that crap, I didn't kiss myself last night,"

"I merely indulged into your fantasy, the effects my presence has on you is quite amusing,"

"Don't be pathetic! Just admit it, you wanted to kiss me," Meredith searched his face with wide green eyes. "I may have thought about kissing you, but you thought about kissing me too,"

He smirked. "So you admit it? You have thought about it?"

"Yes." Meredith said lightly, a little breathless with a mixture of annoyance and the need to touch Sherlock. He seemed to understand this, because they had both unconsciously magnetised closer together, like they always seem to do. Why did he continue to say he didn't want her when the mixture of lust and logic in his gaze said otherwise? The gaze turned into slight confusion as he grazed her cheek with his fingers like he had done so before. Meredith felt the same familiar surprise, as if she expected his touch to be cold, like the icy blue of his eyes. Yet he felt warm, solid, the light touch of his thumb on her neck as real as any other person's touch.

_What is it that you want? _She thought desperately, feeling his hand curving over her waist. She licked her bottom lip, his eyes dropping to her mouth instantly, a spark of heat threatening to turn her legs into jelly.

And then her lips had joined to meet his. Just like the night before, his kisses were light at first, testing her reaction. Then he reached his arms around her waist completely and her smaller form was pressed up against his body. Meredith pushed her fingers into his hair, massaging her hands through the soft curls as her mind went completely blank, her lips crashing into his fiercely and without any restraint. She could feel his desire for control, like he wanted with everything else, but her mind was giving her other ideas. Using her teeth she bit down hard on his bottom lip. Sherlock let out a low groan, his hands gripping her tightly as he sent her practically crashing into the bathroom wall.

Meredith vaguely heard the towel rack fall to the floor with a bang, her thoughts more preoccupied with Sherlock's mouth now working it's way up and down her neck.

"...eredith? Sherlock? Hello? Is anybody about?"

Meredith just about heard her Uncle's voice. What was it with people and interrupting!? "Sherlock...Sherlock stop!" She whispered frantically. He pulled away from her skin slightly, his eyes glazed over. She wanted nothing more than to pull off his dressing gown and drag her nails over his bare skin.

"What?" He said, his voice thick.

"It's John, get off!" She snapped mutedly, her words completely ignored as he kissed her again. "Shhmmmnerllock!"

"Meredith? Are you in the bathroom?" She heard John calling, her mind in a state of fuzzy panic.

"Yes! I'm just in the bathroom getting dressed!" Meredith managed to shout. "Be out in a minute!"

"Do you want a cuppa?!" Her uncle asked, as Sherlock's teeth found her earlobe. She moaned, a little too loudly, and clapped her hand over her mouth, trying and failing to stop her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

"Errr yes...yes ttthanks!" She cried, feeling more like she was in a dream that could turn into a nightmare at any second. "Sherlock you have to get off me now!" She hissed, squirming against his grip. He seemed a little dazed for a minute before coming to his senses and pushing himself away from her. For moment they just stared at each other, then Sherlock went for the door.

"Wait!" Meredith shut it quickly with a quiet snap, her voice still low. "God, one good snog and your brain turns to mush? You can't go out there now, John will see you!"

Sherlock blinked down at her. "And that would be bad...?"

"Yes it would be bad! Look, I'm going to have to get dressed and then leave, after a few minutes you need to sneak into your bedroom so he thinks you've been in there the whole time," Meredith felt frantic at this point. "Turn around,"

"Why?"

"Because I need to get dressed!"

Sherlock cocked his eyebrow. "You needn't be shy, I have a clear image of what you would look like without clothes on and-"

"I'm going to have to stop you right there. Shut up and turn around. Now." Her warning tone seemed to do the trick, as he turned away with a roll of his eyes. Meredith scrambled for her clothes, slipping on her underwear, black leggings and white body hugging jumper on quickly. "Right, I think we are good to go,"

Sherlock turned around. "This is quite childish, I don't believe John would care-"

"He would shoot you. Definitely. He already wants to kill you half of the time," Meredith pointed out. Without thinking, she reached up and pushed a few curls away from his forehead, smoothing them into the rest of his hair. Just a small casual gesture she suddenly barely even thought about doing with him, when normally she would avoid touching him like the plague.

She hastily pecked him on the lips before leaving the bathroom to join John in the kitchen, her heart rate through the roof. Her Uncle looked up at her as soon as she entered and his brow furrowed. "Are you all right? You look flushed,"

"Do I?" She felt her cheeks; they were flaming hot. "Oh boy, must be the shower, I always have it too hot,"

"Did you fall over in there? I heard a crash," John handed her a cup of tea.

"Took the towel rack with me an' all, I really have to be more careful," Meredith said as evenly as she could, finding lying to John a lot harder than to herself.

John shook his head with a small smile. "You are daft."

"Yes, she is rather daft, isn't she?" Sherlock's voice wafted into the kitchen, a spine tingling shudder going through her entire body. Taking a sip of tea, she smiled into her cup, feeling elated, confused and totally mind boggled all at the same time.

…

Meredith hummed to herself as she splashed paint onto her canvas. The whole class were happily painting and chattering amongst themselves whilst Mrs Palmer snoozed with her head on her desk.

"You seem in a good mood today," Annie commented to her left, scattering a fist full of glitter onto her artwork.

Meredith paused for moment. "Do I?"

"Yeah, not like a girl who just went through a traumatic experience or anything,"

"Oh, you mean Greyson? Oh, I'm still freaked about that," Meredith sort of lied, trying to sound convincing. In truth, she'd barely thought of the creepy artist at all. The whole ordeal was overshadowed by a certain consulting detective and his magical ability to kiss in a way that had her toes curling. She didn't even know if he'd kissed anyone else before, and that thought made it all the more better.

"Mer, enough with the bull. You've had a stupid smile on your face all morning. Who is he?" Tyler grilled, looking extremely determined all of a sudden. He looked half asleep as he tried to come up with an idea for his final piece, his hair askew after many times running his hands through it in agitation.

"I don't know what you mean. I'm just happy as always," She grinned.

"Oh you've snogged someone all right. It wasn't Callum was it? Because you've been doing a great job at cutting him off," Annie said with a creased brow.

"What? Of course not, I would never go there again,"

"Haha! So you admit there is someone!" Annie exclaimed, making Mrs Palmer jump awake with a snort. She looked around blearily for a few short moments before putting her head straight back down on the desk.

"OK...fine, there is but it's nothing," Meredith whispered hurriedly.

Annie was practically bouncing up and down. "Who who who?"

"Oh my God." Tyler suddenly said, realisation hitting his handsome features. "No way Mer! When? How?"

Meredith bit her lip anxiously. "Long story..."

"I knew it." He looked extremely pleased with himself, whilst Annie flitted her eyes between the pair of them in confusion. Tyler took pity on her quickly. "Sherlock,"

"Oh my God, when?" She cried.

"After we caught Greyson, and he kissed me. Just for the record," Meredith said firmly. "Then the other morning as well, that was kind of a mutual thing..."

"Have you had the sexy time yet?" Annie grinned whilst wagging her eyebrows.

"The sexy time? What are you twelve?" Tyler asked her incredulously, before turning back to Meredith. "But have you?"

"No. I'm still getting my head around kissing the guy, I mean you've met him haven't you? I don't even think he's been in a relationship, but who the hell knows?"

Annie pondered for a moment. "Maybe you could ask him?"

Meredith groaned a little. "If it was only that simple..."

"Maybe it is," Tyler suggested. "Just come right out with it. He's got no reason to lie to you,"

"He may have many reasons to lie to me," Meredith pointed out, casting her canvas an annoyed look. Her painting of a random man she'd seen sitting in the subway station earlier that day was becoming someone different, and she didn't exactly know who. "He's the most complicated person I've ever known,"

"Does John know?"

"God no. No, no way in hell." Meredith said, letting her paintbrush flop in her hand as she caught Tyler's raised eyebrow. "First of all, it's only ever happened twice. Secondly, I have no idea whether Sherlock is just messing with me or not, and thirdly, I doubt he'd ever want a proper relationship, which would mean upsetting John for absolutely no reason."

"But Mer, what about what you want? Sherlock may be Sherlock but it doesn't mean you can't have your say,"

"I know this. It's Lestrade I am sort of worried about, he caught us kissing and if he tells John it's pretty much game over,"

Annie ran her hand over her face and into her hair, covering herself in glitter. "Lestrade? The police guy from the gallery?"

"Yep, the very one,"

"Oh Meredith, you're shit at this aren't you?" Tyler giggled.

"Yes. I suck at lying," Meredith sighed. "If I ever see Lestrade again it's going to be so awkward."

"Don't worry, he won't tell John," Annie assured her, patting Meredith on the head and no doubt spreading glitter all over her hair.

"He better not," The blond grumbled, attempting to brush the glitter from her curls with her fingertips and failing miserably.

…

Her painting had become that strange man. The man who she had no doubt was, or had some sick connection with Moriarty.

His eyes were deadened and blackened, like a crows wings beating in a grave yard. Just looking at her work gave her the chills, and she realised she'd met the man before...

_In her hurry she skimmed around a corner, and collided head on with a man in a light coloured suit, nearly sending him flying in the process. _

"_Oh God, I'm sorry!" Meredith exclaimed apologetically, as his briefcase fell to the ground with a loud clatter. _

"_No, no, don't worry," he said, watching her as she scrambled to pick up his things. She met a pair of dark brown eyes. He stood a little taller than her, with short brown hair and a sincere expression on his face. "Thank you,"_

"_I'm sorry, again!" Meredith handed him his briefcase quickly. "Really! I have to go!" She grinned brightly at him, before rushing down the busy street once more, her hair flying out behind her. _

...How long had he been plotting his schemes? He clearly wanted to haunt her, engrave himself into her memory like a chipping block to a stone.

After staring at her painting for while longer, Meredith shook her head slightly and gathered her things. Class had ended half an hour ago but she'd chosen to stay behind a bit longer to discover who she was painting.

She really wished she hadn't now.

The college was eerily empty as she paced down the corridor, most of the classrooms deserted. A loud clunk made her jump fifty feet into the air and she whirled around, hand on heart. One of the cleaners shuffled from a classroom and gave her a scowl before moving on with her mop in hand. Exhaling slowly, Meredith scolded herself for being so jumpy.

The next minute her phone buzzed loudly in the pocket of her jeans. She yelped a little, cursing under her breath as she read the caller I.D. "Hello John,"

"_Meredith, where are you?" _

His voice sounded strained and worried. Meredith frowned as she continued her way to the college lobby. "I'm at college, are you OK?"

"_I need you to go straight to 221B, there's...well there's something going on and I need to know you are safe there,"_

"Safe? What do you mean? What's happening? Is it something to do with that explosion I heard about earlier?"

"_Yes, look, there was one that exploded the flat opposite us and then one that took out a block of flats. At first we didn't know who it was, but now we do and it's not great Mer," _

"Who is it John?" Meredith asked, dread filling her heart as she entered the main entrance hall and caught eyes with the man standing directly opposite her, his dark eyes full of twisted amusement.

"_Moriarty." _

...


	25. Chapter 25

**Hey all of my amazing, fantastic, intelligent readers! (Is flattery going to work? I hope so) I can only apologise for the gap in my chapters, unfortunately I have been really busy with reality and work and blah blah all that boring stuff. **

**I hope this chapter makes up for the long break and please feel free to let me know what you think! Thanks! xxx**

"Guess who!?" Came his cry, arms outstretched either side of him as if greeting an old friend. Meredith stood stock still, her gaze unwavering. The remarkable sense of foreboding had drenched every atom of her body, the muscles in her hands twitching uncontrollably. Getting out of this was not going to be easy.

"No? Not even a hello?" he asked, stepping a bit closer. Meredith took a step back instantly, his face twisting into a grin. "Boo. I thought you'd be pleased to see me! Do me a favour and hang up the phone, I wouldn't want to have to take it from you,"

"_Do as he says, Mer. I promise you we will find you." _John's voice remained the only thing keeping her sane, so it was with great reluctance that she hung up the phone with a weak 'ok'.

"What do you want?" Meredith said shakily, the phone still in her hand.

"Not that question, for god's sake! Can't anyone be a little original? It's always 'what do you want?' or 'please, don't hurt me!' it bores me senseless!"

"You are Moriarty then?"

"Bingo!" He cried. "Did you have fun, with all the little games I played with you? Donna, did you like her? She was good. Easily corrupted,"

Meredith flinched upon hearing the woman's name. The way her head had burst open as the bullet lodged itself into her brain still kept her up some nights, the feeling of warm blood splattering over her skin giving her chills. "You manipulated a helpless woman, she went completely crazy!"

Moriarty flashed her a dark look. "She was already crazy, baby, I just made her better."

"Why did you try to kill me?"

"Ah...third time lucky eh?" Moriarty paced around a bit, his grey suit tailored and fitted perfectly to his slim lined body. His shoes were shiny and gleaming, a deep contrast to the darkness flooding his irises. "To be honest, I wasn't trying too hard. If I was you would be dead,"

Meredith clenched her fists together tightly. "Then why do it?"

"Because I wanted to!" He played out every word like a violinist stretching each note out with a bow. "I usually get what I want,"

Glancing at the doors, she wondered if she could make a dash for it. It wasn't too far, she just had to manoeuvre around Mr Crazy Eyes, possibly hit him in the groin or something of that nature, and run like the wind. "Whatever it is that you want, I'm not interested,"

"Oh I think you are. You see at first I just thought you were normal, ordinary. A boring girl pining over her alcoholic mother and just trying to fit in," He emphasised this with a fake crying voice and pretended to wipe his eyes. Her blood boiled. "But then all of a sudden you had Sherlock's attention, the big bad consulting detective with a heart of ice, and I realised, you aren't normal. You _are _different,"

Meredith didn't like where this was going, nor the fact he was stepping closer to her as he continued his monologue. "The difference between potential and success is how it is utilised, my dear. Sherlock isn't going to utilise the gift you have, not the way it needs to be. I on the other hand...can,"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," She lied, feeling a sick twist knotting up her stomach. The notion of breathing was becoming difficult, like a hand was crushing her windpipe.

"I am sure you have a very good idea about what I am talking about Goldilocks," He was now directly in front of her, and she was too scared to move. The fear must've shown in her eyes, as he gave her a look only a predator would their prey. "It's OK, there's very little point in me killing you,"

"I don't believe you," Meredith breathed.

He looked disappointed. "Shame, I thought we had a good relationship, you and me. Or do you only offer your-" he looked over her body in what felt like excruciating detail. "-_services _to our favourite consulting detective?"

"I don't offer my services to anyone you slimy git," Meredith growled, moving her arm swiftly to catch her fist into his gut, in the hope it would startle him so she could make a run for it. Moriarty grabbed her wrist rapidly before she cold make contact and dragged her towards him. Her eyes widened in shock as he crashed his lips onto hers. She felt repulsed and disgusted all at the same time, the invasive action causing a flash of red to sear over her eyes. Fighting against him ardently, she managed to pull from his grip and staggered away from him, the same amused smile on his face.

"I have to say, I get the fascination, really, I do,"

Meredith glared daggers at the lunatic, realising a little too late that the world was beginning to spin before her eyes. She blinked quickly as she tried to stay on her feet. "What have you done to me?"

"Sleeping draught on the lips, old trick but a good one," Moriarty grinned, pointing towards his mouth. "You didn't think I'd kiss you without motive, did you?"

Meredith couldn't even think straight any longer. Her vision was blurry and warped, Moriarty's face swimming around her vision like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. A tear escape her eye as she gave into the darkness.

…

"Sherlock RUN!"

John latched himself to Moriarty.

He laughed. "Good! _Very _good,"

"If your sniper pulls that trigger Mr Moriarty, then we both go up," John growled.

"Isn't he sweet, I can see why you like having him around, though people do get rather sentimental about their pets! They're so touchingly loyal," Moriarty knew just how to push buttons. John tightened his grip on the insane man but as ever, Moriarty knew how to pull out the winning cards. "The thing is, Johnny boy, if I blow up right now, you will never see that beautiful niece of yours again,"

"Where is she?" John roared.

"Safe. For now," Moriarty grinned. "And er, oops!" A red dot danced it's way over Sherlock's forehead. "You've rather shown your hand there Doctor Watson,"

John stared at Sherlock and both men shared a look of defeat. There was little he could do other than release his hold on Moriarty, who by all accounts had just admitted he was holding Meredith hostage. His Meredith. His family, his blood. She was twenty years old for Christ's sake! He'd put her in danger, as soon as she'd entered 221B that afternoon he should of told her to leave, to leave London, go back to her mother and stay the hell away from John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.

God, she could be anywhere! Wrapped up in Semtex just waiting to be blown to smithereens, much like him.

"Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone Sherlock? To you?" Moriarty's voice sounded, making John focus again.

"Oh Let me guess, I get killed?" Sherlock drawled back, still holding the gun up too the shorter man's head.

"Kill you? Now, don't be obvious. I mean I'm gonna kill you anyway someday, I'm not gonna rush it though. No no no, I'm saving it up for something special. If you don't stop prying, I will _burn_ you. I will burn the _heart _out of you."

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one." Sherlock said in an almost growl.

"But we both know that's not quite true," Moriarty replied. "Well, I'd better be off. So nice to have had a proper chat,"

"What if I was to shoot you now?"

"Well you'd have to cherish the look of surprise on my face, because I would be surprised Sherlock, really, I would, and then, well, you'd never find Meredith. You'd never know where she is, what I plan to _do_ with her. And of course, you wouldn't be able to cherish it for long,"

John saw the whiteness in Sherlock knuckles as his fingers tightened around the gun in his hands. "Where is she?" He asked, jaw set tightly.

"Does anything you know about me suggest I would tell you that?" Moriarty used his hands to gesture down his body. "Honestly. I thought you were meant to be smart. No, little Meredith is mine for the time being. I like her you know, she's got spirit,"

"Does anything you know about me suggest I will leave you alone whilst you have her?" Sherlock stepped forwards just slightly.

"If you leave me alone, I can guarantee you will see her again in one piece." Moriarty said lowly. "Ciao, Sherlock Holmes."

John watched as he left the swimming pool, eyes as wide as saucers. "Shit. Shit shit double shit!"

"Are you al-right?" Sherlock asked suddenly, prizing the Semtex coat away from John quickly.

"Forget me! Oh bloody hell!" He felt his legs going from under him and had to grasp the side of a changing cubicle for support. "Meredith, Jesus! He's got Meredith!"

Sherlock paced up and down, flailing the gun around in his hands rather haphazardly. "I know."

"I mean this isn't just 'a victim' Sherlock. This isn't one of those so called 'irrelevant' people who mean nothing! This is my niece!"

"I know John!" Sherlock practically bellowed. The strain in his friend's voice startled John. For once Sherlock didn't look like the picture of calm. Instead he seemed agitated and affected, as if he really did care about his niece.

"So what the hell are we going to do?" John voiced.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? You're Sherlock Holmes for Christ sake!"

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply when a flurry of red dots appeared all over him like a plague. John swore, his patience finally wearing out.

"Sorry boys!" Cried Moriarty from the end of the swimming pool. "I'm _so _changeable! It is a weakness of mine, but to be fair, it is my only weakness. You can't be allowed to continue, you just can't. I would try to convince you but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!"

John saw it, the moment Sherlock realised there wasn't going to be a way out of this one. The moment he pointed that gun towards the coat of explosives, the moment he let his finger slide over the trigger.

They were all going to die.

…

Meredith awoke suddenly. As if she had been slapped awake, she jolted upright too quickly. The rushing feeling in her head made her groan, one of her hands; clammy with stress, finding her forehead.

An aching pain had settled in her cranium. Events unfolded in her memory rapidly, the panic rising up into her throat like bile.

_Where the hell am I?_

Looking around she found she was in a very normal looking bedroom. The walls were hospital white, gleaming and clean. The window had been covered with black-out curtains, a lamp on the bedside table glowing delicately besides her. A glass of water was sat innocently on the chestnut cabinet. Meredith eyed it. She was thirsty, very thirsty in fact, but she wasn't about to drink anything Moriarty had given her.

Just his name sent chills of fear down her spine. The man was clearly insane, determined to frighten the living daylights out of her. And what had he said...something about 'utilising' her gift? What on earth did that mean?

She staggered to her feet, noticing her shoes had gone. Where in god's name where her shoes? Her bag was missing, her mobile, everything. Scrambling around, she yanked at the curtains but they were fastened to the wall and despite tugging for a good five minutes, she wasn't strong enough to pull them free.

"God damn!" She growled, heading for the bedroom door. It was locked. Swearing loudly she kicked the door with the bottom of her foot, which did nothing other than really hurt. She swore again, the anger causing her eyes to water in sheer frustration. She took hold of the glass on the bedside table and threw it. It shattered over the door into millions of tiny pieces, all spread out over the cream carpet like tiny little diamonds.

It was after five minutes of heavily panting that she regretted throwing the water. Now she was thirstier than she had been before and her only water now darkened the carpet. Sinking down onto the bed, she put her head into her hands, wondering how on earth it had all come to this.

And that's when she heard the footsteps.

...


	26. Chapter 26

**Finally an update! Excuse the wait folks, degrees don't do themselves unfortunately so I haven't had much time on my hands. Anyway, I hope this makes up for it. Please feel free to let me know what you think, thanks! Jess xx **

That ringtone. Staying Alive. How poignant.

John couldn't quite believe his ears. He had begun thinking about everything in his life, especially Meredith. The guilt he still felt for not being there when she needed him, when his sister had been too drunk to acknowledge her own children. Harriet had been a terrible mother to Meredith and Laura, and he had been an even worse uncle.

Meredith didn't know he knew about her scars, the ones Harriet had given her. How could she have done that to her? How could he have done this to her now!? He was leaving her again just when she needed him most. John knew with every ounce of his being he had failed her.

And then there was that damn ringtone.

Moriarty reached for the device from his pocket, mouthing a 'sorry' to Sherlock, who almost looked as flabbergasted as John did.

"SAY THAT AGAIN!" Roared Moriarty down the phone. "Say that again, and know that if you are lying to me, I will find you, and I will _skin _you."

John grimaced at his choice of words. Double shit. He was definitely going to hurt Meredith, he just knew it.

"Wait." Moriarty ordered to the poor sod on the other end of the call. His arm fell from his ear, staring at Sherlock and John almost like a lost child. "Sorry. Wrong day to die,"

"You get a better offer?" Sherlock asked, gun still held tightly in his hand.

"You'll be hearing from me Sherlock. Don't worry too much about Meredith, she should be OK." He began to saunter off, speaking into his phone again. John barely heard a word, trying his hardest to breathe deeply and not have a heart attack. Sherlock looked about ready to launch himself after the lunatic, but the red dots only lifted from the pair of them once Moriarty was completely out of sight.

John swore loudly. "What happened there?"

Sherlock turned to him. "Someone changed his mind."

...

Sitting opposite a maniac was one thing. But sitting opposite a maniac with what looked like a very ordinary pot of tea and a plate full of biscuits was something very different entirely.

Meredith felt the unique feeling of strangeness envelope her senses. Like a near death experience, it was as if she had been lifted from her body and was watching events unfold without any comprehension of what was really happening.

Moriarty continued to bore his dark eyes into her as if she may disappear at any moment. His hands were clasped over his crossed legs, a look of utter calm on his features. "I just had a very interesting chat with John and Sherlock. Lovely people,"

Meredith's eyes shot up to meet his. "Where are they? Did you hurt them?"

He chuckled. "I was going to. We all nearly blew up in the process. Quite funny really. Are you going to have some tea? I promise it's not poisoned,"

"I don't want any,"

"Slightly rude, don't you think? I am being hospitable at least." He reached over to grab the pot, making Meredith jumped and jerk backwards. He chuckled in amusement.

"You're scared of me,"  
>"I don't trust you,"<p>

"Ah yes. That kiss, was pretty spontaneous of me wasn't it?" He grinned.

Meredith watched him as he poured tea into a small porcelain mug, placing it into the saucer in front of her. She had no idea what to do, or what to say. Her mind had started racing, and the only thing she wanted was for Sherlock to come bursting through the door with his long dark coat and clever eyes. She wanted to hear his voice, feel his warm hands on her face...

When Moriarty realised she wasn't going to reply he sighed. "Are you wondering if Sherlock is going to find you? He won't. I haven't given him any clues or anything, I don't want him to find you. For now you're all mine,"

"I'm not yours," Meredith bit back. "I don't belong to anybody."

Moriarty stood up so abruptly the table crashed over, sending the pretty porcelain tea set flying to the ground. The white shards scattered over the cream carpet, hot liquid oozing from the cracks. Meredith was so shocked she couldn't move or think as he slowly stalked his way over to her, placing both hands on the arm rests of her chair and lowering his face inches away from her own.

" .mine." He whispered, slowly. "I know a lot of people. I know a lot of sick people, people who would just _love _to do terrible, unimaginable things to a sweet little girl like you," A hand ran down from her throat, between her breasts and stopped on her abdomen. "Do you want to meet them?"

When Meredith didn't reply the hand pressed down onto her stomach hard. She gasped as tears trickled down her cheeks. "No,"

His grin illuminated between her eyes and he pushed himself away from her quickly. "Goood. I'm glad we have that settled,"

"What do you want from me?" She practically whimpered, all of the life seeping out of her.

"I'm sort of like a child, you know. I don't really know why I do things, they just happen and I get on with it," He grinned as if what he had said was hilariously funny. Suddenly his face turned serious, those dark callus eyes focused on hers once more. "What do you think of this suit? Tell me honestly." He smoothed his hands over his sides and looked at her expectantly.

Meredith stared back at him in disbelief. Hadn't he just threatened her a second ago? When she didn't say anything Moriarty sighed dramatically. "Meredith, honestly. It' just a simple question." All of a sudden he pulled a gun out from his pocket and pointed it at her head. "Answer it."

Meredith looked over his suit shakily. "I…ll-like it,"

"Honestly? You're not…_lying _are you?"

"No. I really like it," She stammered, wishing he'd remove the gun from her temple. "It's the truth,"

Thinking about her answer for a moment, he finally looked satisfied with her answer and took the gun away. "Thanks. Well, I better get going, some of us have actual work to do." He smiled. "Oh, you might wanna clean this up," He gestured to the mess he'd just made. "You'll find everything you need around here. And please don't try and escape, it won't be pleasant for you."

Meredith sat perfectly still as he eyed for an agonising few moments, before leaving the apartment with a small click. As soon as he had left she let out a series of short breathes, the world beginning to spin around in front of her eyes as she struggled to get any air to her lungs. She gasped and sobbed, clutching the arm of the chair, in such a state of panic she blacked out completely, collapsing to the ground.

…

Meredith Kenly.

When she was ten years of age, her father, Private Thomas Arthur Kenly died on his second and final tour. That was when her mother, Harriet Kenly at the time, became a widow and a single mother to her two daughters.

Sherlock could see the similarities between Meredith and her father. The picture of her father on the website had the same shaped eyes, the same smile. The only difference being that Meredith held sincerity in her eyes, whereas her father did not.

Good people, people like Meredith, for instance, baffled him. He was after all extremely cynical, after being a genius of course, and he could see how ridiculous it was that he couldn't understand her. But that was the most agonising part; he couldn't understand her.

He didn't understand why out of the hundreds of thousands of people he met every single day, there was only one person who stayed with him. He'd even dreamed about her. Sherlock wasn't fanciful in the slightest and he maintained his dreams as some sort of biological phase his body was going through. Thinking about her without clothes on was just his body's way of telling him he needed a release, but he knew if he pushed the images as far back into his mind palace as they would go, he'd forget about them and be able to concentrate on important things.

Kissing her had been rather spontaneous for him, he had to admit. It hadn't been the worst experience of his life either, in fact kissing her had ruined his plans to push her away from his thoughts. Feeling her smaller form pressed against him, hearing her gasping as he kissed her throat and seeing how flushed her skin became when she was aroused had temporarily blocked out any reservations he may have had previously. If she hadn't been so desperately worried about John's reaction to it all he may have ended up tearing off her clothes and making it his mission to find the places that made her scream.

Which was very odd. Sherlock had never been attracted to anyone quite like it before. There had been no need for him to be with anyone, or 'make love' as most people would call it. And now the thought of her writhing beneath him and crying out his name turned his palms clammy and made his heart race.

He flicked through the article about her father, not really sure why he was looking at it in the first place. There was nothing here that would help him find Meredith, who for all accounts had vanished into thin air.

John was pacing up and down the flat, ranting on and on to Lestrade, but there wasn't going to be anything he could do. Sherlock had to admit, it was strange to have her missing, and he wasn't quite sure why he felt so agitated about it. Yes, he had admitted to himself that he was attracted to her, but normally he found Moriarty's puzzles exciting, thrilling, in fact. Now he just felt cold, like an ice-cube was sliding down his spine.

The game had been fun, up until now.

"Look Greg, I'm willing to pay anything at all to find her!" John bellowed down the phone, his voiced strained. Sherlock tutted. No amount of money was going to help and the best person to find Meredith would be him.

"No, no I haven't lost my mind yet, listen-ok. Just let me know if you find anything," John hung up the phone and looked about ready to fling it at the wall.

"Destroying your phone will only hinder your efforts," Sherlock drawled.

"Shut up." John hissed. "This is all bloody your fault!"

"My fault?"

"Yes! Your fault! If you just kept your bloody head down and didn't feel the need to piss off every crazy serial killer in London then I might have my niece safe right now!"

Sherlock had no idea how John had drawn up that conclusion, on the contrary, it was Moriarty who had sort Sherlock out. He realised he had voiced this out loud and John looked so enraged that Sherlock jumped up from his desk in order to avoid the shorter man's fists.

"Any luck yet boys?" Mrs Hudson chimed form the doorway.

"No. No bloody luck!" John roared, making the older woman jump. "I mean where on earth would he take her?"

"He said he didn't want us to find her." Sherlock mused, trying to order his thoughts. Meredith had shown a gift, she was good, very good, at sketching. When he'd found her drawings he'd been seriously surprised at how accurately she had been able to remember details, not only of people but of the surroundings as well. Having a photographic memory was rare but possible. Had Moriarty discovered she had this talent?

Was that possibly why he had her? So if that was the case, where would he want to take her?

Moriarty displayed a strange set of mannerisms, he liked control. He liked power over people. He liked to scare people.

He was also good at scheming and planning. The many methods he had chosen to entice Sherlock out of Baker Street had been positively elementary. People had died, yes, which until now had not seemed to cause Sherlock much trouble. Yet now because of Meredith the need to see her alive again changed everything.

Third time lucky!

No. That was nothing to do with it. His attempts on Meredith life had been good but trivial, if the man wanted her dead she probably would be.

He said he hadn't left clues.

He hadn't left clues…

"John we are going to the college,"

John looked up from his hands, which he had put his face into. Sherlock looked at the time and realised he had been thinking for over an hour, which had obviously put John into a coma. "What?" The tired looking doctor rasped.

"The college. That's where Meredith was taken so that's where we'll start,"

"I already said that!"

"You did?"

"Yes! Oh forget it, let's go."

…


	27. Chapter 27

**Hey! So another update. I am on a role! This chapter contains a few parts that include violence and are a little bit nasty, just a warning. Also I hope you all like where I am going with this and feel free to review! Jess xx **

The floor was comfortable. She liked it.

The rough surface mottled and dotted, scratching the skin of her cheek. From her view on the floor she could still see the mess Moriarty had made and hear his voice telling her to tidy it up. She didn't know how long she had been on the carpet, but fainting must've allowed her body to shut down and she'd been unable to move for quite a while.

Meredith let herself calm down. If not for her own sake, but for Moriarty's. She refused to let him see her like this, like a shivering wreck on the floor. She forced herself into action, cleaning up the mess and scrubbing the carpet so vigorously her arms ached. She went back into the bedroom and opened the wardrobe, finding fresh clothes all exactly the right size.

Creepy.

The bathroom was immaculate as she took a very hot and brief shower, almost laughing when she realised she was probably the luckiest hostage alive. Not only did she have food, water and shower facilities, she could even watch TV.

Distracting herself could only last so long, however. Soon the wariness set in, the panic of not knowing when Moriarty would suddenly drop in, and every so often she heard a deep, burly voice behind the apartment door. Whoever it was kept answering their phone, and from the sound of his voice Meredith guessed he was massive. He was clearly her prison warden.

As if sensing her distress the door burst open and in waltzed Moriarty, eyes alight. He glanced over the apartment for a moment before practically x-raying her body all the way from her toes to her eyes. "You look practically edible. Though I wished you had worn one of the dresses,"

Meredith felt her hands shaking. "Thank you."

"Can we try something?" he asked, walking over to her. The slim fitting green jumper and black leggings feeling like nothing, as if she were standing in front of him naked. She stayed where she was with much effort, the temptation to back away from him overwhelming. He reached his hand out and placed it on her cheek, fingers smoothing over her skin. The touch made her mentally cringe, her breath ragged.

He leaned in to kiss her and her eyebrows furrowed in irritation. Without hesitation she cracked him hard over the face with the palm of her hand, staggering away from him quickly. She took his momentary surprise to make a sprint for the door, coming face to face with…

Meredith was in such shock she didn't notice her wrists had been gripped tightly, nor did she realise she had been pushed roughly back into the apartment. Her eyes were so wide she wouldn't have been surprised if they popped from her skull. The person stood in front of her just stared back at her indifferently, handsome features cold and barely human.

"_Callum?"_

…

Meredith had been missing for nearly 24 hours now. John new that after 24 hours, the police would now dub her a missing person. Finally.

Not that Lestrade had much to go on. He barely had a clue who Moriarty was, even less than Sherlock, and Sherlock didn't know much either. After calling in at Scotland yard, yelling at Anderson for being the prick that he was, and making sure Donavon pulled her finger out of her ass, John felt slightly better about finding Meredith.

Sherlock was currently flapping around Meredith's college like a rabid bat, startling students out of their wits with his constant comings and goings.

"Uncle John!" Came a cry to his left. Currently in the college cafeteria with a massive paper cup of coffee, John was sat rubbing his weary eyes. He hadn't slept a wink and hadn't bothered to try. The voice made him jump slightly, but he relaxed as Annie and Tyler rounded him like gannets feeding.

"What the hell is going on?" the tiny girl squeaked, sitting opposite John. "Where is Mer?"

Tyler nodded vigorously like the Churchill dog. "Seriously we haven't seen her or heard from her and I tried calling a billion times-"

"She's…she's been…" John sighed, deciding telling them the whole truth was the only option he had left. "Moriarty kidnapped her. We don't have a clue where she is or what he's doing to her,"

Annie let out a gasp. "Shit."

"So she told you about Moriarty then?"

"Only that he's a psychotic freak," Tyler deadpanned. "But no worries, I'm sure she'll be fine,"

Annie glanced at Tyler and then back to John apologetically. "Sorry, Tyler gets sarcastic when he's stressed,"

"Look, the last time you saw her, what was she saying? Did she hint to you that anything was wrong?" John prompted, the pair of college students looking at each other quickly and then sheepishly shaking their heads.

"No,"

"Not at all," They both said in unison.

John sighed. "Brilliant."

…

Sherlock straightened his scarf and ruffled up his hair. The woman on the reception desk was young, probably twenty five, so he figured it would be easy to get information from her. Placing his best charming smile on his face, he turned the corner and strolled over to the shiny white desk. It looked immaculate from his side, but it only took a brief look over the marbled surface to alert him that behind the desk was absolute chaos.

Great.

The woman herself was clearly bored. She had bleached blond hair that was in desperate need of root control, her eyes were tired and rimmed; she'd been out all night. Her nails that were usually in prime condition were chipped from her exertions the night before and she wreaked of stale alcohol. There was a tell-tale sign of an imminent break up from her boyfriend as her eyes were glued to her phone and her fingers working over the keys in controlled frustration.

Sherlock cleared his throat which made her look up. "Hello, my name is inspector Greg Lestrade," He held up Lestrade's I.D quickly before flipping it back into his coat. "I'm sure you have been made aware of a student here who has gone missing, Meredith Kenly?"

The girl looked at him blankly. "Nah. Ain't heard that,"

"Well now you know." Infuriating little twerp. "So can you type her name into the computer and tell me what pops up," He did a little splay with his fingers as if talking to a child, deciding charming this girl was going to be of no use. She sucked her teeth slightly but did as he asked.

"Says here that she's an art student,"

"Yes and?"

"Oh hold on. I remember her name," The girl said. "Meredith, yeah, some guy came in and asked about her the other day, said he was her boyfriend,"

"Who?" Sherlock demanded in his scariest tone of voice possible. The receptionist seemed to find him extremely terrifying as she visibly flinched.

"I can't remember…he was young, brown hair, very good lookin', said he was gonna surprise her or somethin' for her birthday," She stuttered.

"And what did you tell him?"

"Well…what classes she had the next day and that kinda thing, he looked legit!"

Sherlock didn't understand why he was suddenly so infuriated. Maybe it was this girl's complete lack of competence? "Well now she's missing. I wouldn't hold out lasting here, if anything has happened to Meredith I will personally make sure you never get a job for the _rest _of your _life_." He growled with an incredibly amount of hostility. He pulled out his phone and called John, marching away as the girl started crying.

"_Hello?" _John's voice said.

"John, we need Callum Dwyer's address and tell Lestrade to get any other information on him right now,"

"_Who? You mean Callum? Meredith's ex-friend sort of ex-boyfriend Callum?" _

"Yes, get on it immediately." Sherlock hung up, his mind racing. Suddenly a great many things made sense, like how Moriarty had known where Meredith worked, where she went to college, how she could draw. What else had Callum fed to Moriarty? Callum knew Meredith's past, something Moriarty would relish, use to break her down and get into her head.

Instinct was a brilliant thing. Sherlock prided himself on having disliked Callum from the off; after all, Sherlock was right and he loved being right.

This was going to get very interesting.

…

Meredith stared up at her childhood friend in horror, wondering if she should believe her own eyes. There he stood, with his brown hair all floppy and his cool brown eyes watching her as if he'd never met her in his entire life.

She stepped forwards, trying to grasp his hand but he pulled back. "Don't touch me."

"What are you doing here Callum?"

"What do you think Meredith?" He replied snidely as the huge guard at the door shut it with a snap. "Stop asking questions,"

"What are you talking about? Why are you here Callum?!"

He took hold of her wrist harshly, tugging her towards him. "I said stop asking questions," he all but hissed, pushing her away so forcefully she fell to the ground with a thump. Callum's words cut into her like a knife, the pain in her chest so painful she feared she may explode.

"Seems you know how to piss people off Meredith," Moriarty beamed, his cheek a flaming red. He didn't look in the least bit fazed about her slapping him, in fact he looked more like he'd enjoyed it. Meredith felt like she was losing her mind. From her spot on the floor she felt like she was nothing; just a pawn in some crazy game between a consulting criminal, a consulting detective and her best friend. They had all of the upper hands, the best moves, the winning check mates, whilst she could only move forwards and hope for the best.

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have been crawling all over the college and they have the police out looking for her," Callum said to Moriarty, acting as if he hadn't just shoved her to floor like a piece of rubbish. Her eyes widened, hearing those names filled her up with a great amount of hope. They were looking for her! Of course they were looking for her, she shouldn't have been surprised at all.

Moriarty tutted as he glanced over to Meredith, who was standing herself back up. "I warned him to leave me alone…"

"Don't you dare hurt them!" Meredith spat.

Moriarty nodded at Callum. The younger and taller man marched up to Meredith and smacked her extremely hard right across the face. Meredith gave a cry of pain, falling down to the sofa as she clutched her cheek. Tears of pain filled her eyes as Callum sneered down at her.

"I told you to shut up!" He cried through clenched teeth. "You are going to learn to do what you are told, do you hear me?"

Meredith just glared up at him. Sherlock had been right about him all along, but she hadn't listened, she never listened! How had Sherlock, the man who knew nothing about human nature, been able to figure out Callum when she herself hadn't even seen? How had she not seen the poison in his veins, the selfish look in his eyes? Even when she'd cut him out of her life, she'd still pitied him, still been tempted to pick up the phone and forgive him. But he had left his old self back home, back when they had been kids with nothing else in their lives, with parents who gave them nothing and all they had was each other.

"I hate you." She growled quietly.

"Boo hoo Mer. It makes no difference," Callum straightened himself up after taunting her like a child as Moriarty began speaking again, seemingly bored of not being the centre of attention.

"Now the domestics are over shall we all learn to get along?" He clapped his hands together. "I have Sherlock Holmes to deal with, you-" he regarded Callum "stay here with her until I say,"

"What are you going to do?" Callum asked.

"I have a bit of a distraction in the form of our Mrs K, but we both know that's not who she really is," Moriarty smirked as he flicked through his phone, seemingly pleased with himself. He started talking to someone as he left the apartment.

Mrs K. Where had Meredith heard that name? Suddenly it hit her, it was one of the first things he told her when he arrived, that he'd called a Mrs K about a job…so who was Mrs K really? Meredith realised the depth of Callum's betrayal, he'd been working with Moriarty right from the beginning. It made her want to be physically sick, the nausea and the spinning in her head too much to handle.

"Mrs K…" Meredith whispered. "You've been working with him all along…"

"Ding ding ding! She finally catches up!" Callum exclaimed, clearly not in slightest bit bothered by her distress.

"Who is Mrs K?"

"Seriously Mer? Are you asking me _another _question?"

"I just want to understand!" She cried, getting beyond fed up.

"Mrs K is one of Moriarty's…people. She knows what people like." Callum said to her shortly. "Unless you want another bruise to match that one I suggest you be quiet."

Meredith stood up with a sigh and marched to the bedroom, slamming the door shut. Her eyes rolled over the blank room, and the mirror, in which she saw the red mark over her right cheek forming nicely.

Her brows furrowed. Callum wasn't going to get away with this, no matter what.

She was going to escape.

…


	28. Chapter 28 (Author's Note)

**Hey everyone,**

**Quick author's note:**

**I seriously apologise, I don't normally do author's notes because I know how annoying they can be, but I am currently in the midst of a heavy uni-work load and I have to finish my first semester before I have time to do anymore writing. **

**I will do the best I can to update as soon as possible, which will probably be the end of January sometime. **

**Thank you guys for sticking with me and I hope everyone had a brilliant Christmas a new year! **

**Just to be nice, I have a paragraph from the next chapter that I started to write, so here it is and I hope it's enough to keep you going for now **

**Lots of love, Jess xxx**

**Chapter 28:**

John barely made it to the front door of Callum's apartment building before Sherlock with his unique capability of making something so brutal look like an art form; flat footed it down.

The door swung open with little protest. A man in a suit was on the other side. He attempted to go at Sherlock, but John's tall dark haired friend took him down with a few eloquent punches and kicks to the face and gut. Sherlock barely looked fazed, stepping over the unconscious man and pulling a face at the apartment.

It looked exactly like John would have imagined; clean, modern and expensive. Well, being on Moriarty's payroll had to have it perks, right? If Callum was on the madman's payroll. It was all speculation at the moment, to John it was at least. Sherlock seemed to have made his mind up and was very keen to get the ball rolling.

John's mobile began ringing in his pocket. He stopped watching Sherlock prance around to answer. "Yes Greg?"

"_John, I've had a look at your guy. Apparently he left Birmingham a short while after Meredith, he got into some trouble with a gang there, owed them a lot of money. Anyway he's actually been living in London under an alias and all of his money goes into some private account these days. The gang who were after him were all found dead five days ago,"_ Lestrade's voice in no way comforted John in the slightest. This didn't sound good at all. He'd always known Callum was a little prick but he never expected him to go down a road as bleak as this.

"What's the name of his alias?" John asked, grabbing his pen and notepad quickly.

"_Peter Blake. Says the real Peter Blake lives at 8a Hampstead Grove near Camden," _

"That's where we are now…"

"John!" Sherlock barked from one of the bedrooms. John shuffled along the hallway, phone still to his ear as he entered the spare bedroom and grimaced.

"Greg, we've found Peter Blake. No. He's definitely not alive,"


End file.
